Discombobulated

Despire what Hallmark card writers extol on the bazillion virtues of being in love, oftentimes, the very same condition gives you an opportunity to become very intimate with concepts of indescribable misery and torturous ordeal. The more defensive ones choose the self-defeating mechanism of aloofness or faux disinterest but like you they are also being gnawed by that undeclared ache of being the parallel contributor and recipient of a certain fondness. “Who can resist the thought that s/he is being loved?”, Buscaglia once wrote. Yet actual love experiences are complex and most often they do not rhyme or painted in adorable pastels. There’s so much struggle for those involved and the games people play make the whole shenanigan all the more less simpler than it should be.

Admirable how a few brave souls are not shy at admitting that they are veterans of many failed attempts at this thing, which merits them the unappetizing title of being bonafide losers. But that doesn’t stop them from finding another mistake. You can argue with reason, you can argue with pain, you can argue with experiences. But you cannot argue with passionate hopefulness.

Other people will find the persistence a stupid pursuit. Who in bleep’s sake cares? Of course you’ll do stupid things but do them with enthusiasm.

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