do you ever just sit down with a group of people that you are either artificially close to, or perhaps on the verge of linking arms and hearts with and the conversation of, ‘ tell me, tell me about your love life’.
people talk about love to get a glimpse of the type of person you are, or were. to envision you as a person who was drugged up on love and high on the best thing bestowed to mankind.
i’ve sat and talked about my love life, sprinkled with some sweet smelling crushes, tossed with a few bad apples that almost ruined what was left, a bit of some experimental spices, and the ones that got away.
but the question that has always grappled my mind was, “what was the authenticity?” i know love cannot be measured like one measures diamonds or leather made in france. what qualifies and can really be deemed as love, in it’s full right and splendor?
does every type of love count?
middle school first love and puppy love, the hormone raging teenage love, the lost everything-to-you love, the “i am still questioning if my feelings were true”, and the elusive true one.
when i sit and talk about the people in my past that once meant the world to me and have elicited probably 10 full length movies of daydreams and fantasies and added smiles and laughter as if they had a remote made for me, it shows me the blurry, shiny past. i always put a glossy finish on all the people that has been a big part of my life at one point. because the bad parts are ineffable.and i can never imagine those same people that i talk about, talking about me. and what would they say?
but please don’t forget, i remember your advice… ‘ dont trust anybody completely… that’s just stupid’.
so i find myself folding my words in half and waiting for the moment and person to finally throw away the piece of advice you told me, to prove that it isn’t stupid.