My average is about eight. But this is probably problematic.
I mean. It’s essentially creating a feedback loop of creepiness and romantic optimism that leads to my heart breaking at least thirty times a week.
And it doesn’t necessarily leave room for the real thing.
I suspect people aren’t the answer, when it comes to the overloving likes of us. I need to learn to switch off my excitement and hope and just focus on loving the things that can bounce love straight back.
Fall in love with the sun once a day, and yourself not long after. Fall in love with the ground under your feet as you walk to your work day or fun day or whatever. Fall in love with your bed, but not deep enough that you don’t take a step outside to fall in love with the air and the sights and the world and the wonder.
Love is probably the most ill defined and flexible monster in our lexicon. It’s a beautiful thing that we all know we want. It’s something inside that we want to pour out, but it comes in so many different flavours and textures and reasons and systems.
I mean. When I talk about falling in love eight times I day, I’m thinking of seeing strangers who inspire me. Seeing a face or outfit that makes me want to know someone (occasionally, unfortunately for my ‘not a sleazy bastard’ credentials, in the biblical sense). Being amazed by the beauty of the people around me fills me with guilt, but I can’t help but encourage myself. It’s good to take inspiration in strangers, right?
Well. It’s not healthy, and its potentially threatening to others. So it’s probably worth avoiding.
Then there’s the love we build in networks. Pouring outwards to our friends and family and drinking back in as sustenance. That’s all good, for the ones that open up to it. We can connect with people. We can support each other just by listening with hearts and remembering to care. We can feed feelings on friendship, grow with each other and forgive each other and generally take strength from the people we love.
That’s friendship, and that’s beautiful.
And then there’s the big one. That combination of both, so elusive and so worshipped by our literature and art (brows high and low). The one that’s supposed to bond us to one other person for the rest of reality. The one we imagine we deserve, and present as a destiny. True love, fairy tales and fate, woven together to give us our big romcom happy ending.
You can sense some cynicism coming through I hope. Even if its a trap I’m totally fallen for. I’m in love with this sort of love, even though I can’t find it anywhere, and I’m pretty sure my lust for it scares it away.
So I fall back on the love of the universe.
Love the air and the stars and the ground.
Illustration by Alix.