The Definition of Love
You can stop taking
quizzes in Cosmo. Here’s what love really is.
Love is still
wanting to hold someone after you climax. After the initial euphoria from the
orgasm wears off, you’re replaced with a sense of calm rather than a panic. You
don’t want to search for your clothes, scramble to find your keys and figure
out the best way to tell them, “See ya later forever!” You’re fine with chilling out in bed with the person and maybe
ordering pad thai later.
Love is unattractive. It can expose our worst
traits: Jealousy, irrational fears, heated anger; the gang’s all here! While it
can bring out compassion and tenderness, it can also make you behave like the
ugliest version of yourself. That can be okay for a little while, but love with
real longevity should be like a xanax rather than an adderall.
Love is not afraid to be schmaltzy. There’s a
reason why the most popular love songs are so lyrically simple. You can drown
it in metaphors all you want but love usually boils down to, “You make me so
happy. I want to hold your hand. I just want u 2 be mine 4ever!” You can be a
50-year-old linguistics professor at Columbia University and still find
something to relate to in a Mariah Carey ballad if you’re in love because the
feelings are so universal. It’s humbling, isn’t it? No matter who you are or
what your background is, love can reduce you to Mariah Carey mush.
Love is an all-consuming drug. It gives us these
natural highs we’ve only read about in books or heard in songs. It’s addictive.
It’s what keeps us going to bars, drinking glasses of wine, going to that
stupid house party in Bushwick; it’s all for the possibility of finding love.
In the wrong hands, love can be dangerous and scary. If someone lacks a healthy
foundation, love can kill. All of these crimes you read about in the newspapers
are usually linked to passionate love. “I did it because I loved them just…too
much.”
Love is not what our parents had. In high school,
you never wanted to think about your mother and father having once slept with
people in the backseat of cars and feeling warm and happy. That would make it
feel less special and young. It would make love have less to do with you when,
EXCUSE ME, it has EVERYTHING to do with you.
Love is getting drunk with your significant other
at a party and taking a cab home with your bodies intertwined. You feel safest
in these moments, the most secure. Entering a social gathering with someone who
loves you is the biggest security blanket. People leave the party as a parade
of droopy expressions and sad cocktail dresses. But not you. “Sorry guys, I’m
in love! I’m taking a car!”
Love is fucking stupid. Love is fucking smart. Love
is about betraying yourself, of compromising your ideals for someone else’s
approval. That’s actually the bad kind of love, but I guess it all blurs
together when you’re young or when you’re old or when you don’t love yourself.
Love is your significant other telling you about
their favorite album and then making a point to fall in love with it on your
own. Love is wondering why your better half loves certain things. You think you
can find remnants of them in their favorite films, books and songs, but you
usually can’t.
Love is finding yourself feeling protective over
someone else’s well-being Love is being incensed with rage when someone or
something has done your lover wrong.
Love is wanting your partner to cum. And if they
can’t, just say, “That’s okay. I’m enjoying this.” It might be bullshit, but
they’ll be orgasming in the next five minutes. Trust me.
Love isn’t always marriage. Marriage is spending
$60,000 so everyone can know that someone loves you. You know what’s certainly
not love? Debt. In some cases, love can be divorce.
Love is a back massage, a mindfuck, a hard cock, a
pair of perfect breasts, of feeling unashamed about the cellulite on your body.
Love is someone giving a shit about you enough to argue. Love is not passive.
Love is “Don’t fucking touch me right now.” Love is “Who the FUCK were you
talking to?” Love is sometimes hating yourself for a second. Love is hate.
Period. Indifference is the real killer of love and the true antithesis.
When love leaves you, you should be lying on your
bathroom floor with no resolve. You’re smoking cigarettes in the bathtub and
crying about everything bad that’s ever happened.
Love is someone seeing the beauty in you and
wanting to bask in it every day all day. Love is not guaranteed. We are not
owed love. That’s why when we get it, we know how lucky we are and hold on to
it for dear life.
So, yeah. That’s what love is. Anyone know where to
get some?
No comments:
Post a Comment