The Paradox of Love

Most people spend their lives of a quest. It is the human nature to want companionship, warmth in the cold, company when misery takes hold of you. It is like we have magnets in us, that subconsciously draw us towards others yearning for contact.

Once you reach a certain age and change takes hold of you, you catch yourself feeling nervous when someone of the opposite sex is near. A flustered feeling that has you looking over, wondering if they too are looking at you as you are them. You take a peek in the reflective glasses you pass by to see whether you are in a state they would even find attractive.

My point is, no matter who you are and how independent you’ve become over time, the need is still there. The want for contact that only another person can soothe. And you long for the day that you have that person in your grasp so that all this time you spend applying makeup, and doing your hair will turn into time you spend with them. Because you need not care any longer, you’ve got them.

But it doesn’t stop, i’ve realized lately.

It’s just been replaced by something else. I apply makeup still in hopes that it will keep his eye from wandering, still dressing up to make sure that i look nice more for him then myself. And I still worry. I worry that I will wake up tomorrow and he will not love me as much as he did today. And the flame we held in our hearts will fade in time before disappearing all together.

I don’t know how many times he leaves me, going to work or to go out with friends when I wonder what else he could be doing. Suspicious by nature because of the life I was raised in, that is what I tell myself. It is of course, not that he will move forth with all these scenarios I play out on a daily basis in my head.

It’s all a paradox. We search for the perfect mate, someone who will complete us and make us feel safe and rid us of our insecurities. And they do, for a time. And then they replace those insecurities with new ones, new worries. One would call it madness.

And that is what love is, it’s temporary madness. A madness that takes over you and rids you of all reason.

You do things, and all the while in your head you are asking yourself why. Why would you do such a thing? You know perfectly well how ridiculous it is, and you hate yourself for it, yet you cannot stop. You go through moods, and motions that you can’t help even though you know you should.

How else can you describe that? What other name could you give it aside from madness.

I would sooner cause myself harm then let him come to any, yet I do things… say things that hurt him even more. It is almost to say that now that I love him, I will have no harm come to him that is not of my hand.

Delirious.

It’s an endless circle, a tiresome one that is so full of bliss when it begins that you can’t help but to be drawn in. Swimming in the paradox that is love.

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