Today some smart-alec at the grocery store came up to me and said “so, are you?” and pointed at my shirt grinning. I looked down and realized I was wearing a shirt that says “in love”, an accidental purchase that I wear often because it fits me just right. Luckily I caught myself in time and remembered that people don’t want real answers to questions like that, so my only response was an awkward giggle before walking away. However, I did have a real answer in mind, and I felt like I should share it with you guys.
So, am I in love?
Even when I’m single I find someone or something to love.
I am perpetually falling in love with life, and all of its beautiful tragedies.
In fact, the only thing I HAVEN’T fallen in love with, is love itself.
Love is an asshole, a force that runs amok through the world doing whatever it wants without taking anyone else’s plans or needs into consideration. I am fond of the image of love as cupid. An infant gifted with wings and a deadly weapon and then set free to run around the world unsupervised is pretty accurate to how I picture love.