Word Thief.

I have a friend that was asking me about love today. And it got me thinking, a lot.

I know nothing of love. I am one of those people who can talk and talk but honestly, I have no idea what’s going on. He was being very ambiguous (yet passionate), and it made me realise, I have potentially missed out on the greatest part of being young. I have a year and 26 days until my youth is behind me (at least my teen years) and I have never, I do not think, been in love. And here is why I think that.

There have only ever been 2 great infatuations, shall we call them, in my life. One was a very good friend of mine, and it went on for about 3 or so years, where not much happened and I was something ridiculous like 14. In hindsight, it was simply a very long crush. The second infatuation, was the (only) boyfriend. It was a 9 month rollercoaster of complete lies and bollocks and what I thought at the time was love. Contemplating my cynicism, I’ve begun to wonder whether I can ever or will ever be able to call anything from my past Love.

The sad truth of the world is that all relationships must end. They can end because someone moved, someone changed, someone lied or someone died, but they still end. Only, if they end on bad terms, I begin to think negatively about them, so to as make myself “get over it”. And once that happens, the whole thing gets disregarded as pathetic, and the feelings ans “not real”, so that as time goes by, I begin to regard the whole thing as a farce and a little bit terrible. And all the while I am truly convinced that I am making my own destiny, and that I am choosing how to feel about everything and that I am coming out on top.

Except, I can’t know if that’s true. By reclassifying what feelings are to me, I am forgetting what I can call an honest, beautiful moment and turning into a lie. And as time goes by, the lie grows, and the relationship is more worse and more poetic as everyday goes by, and then I don’t know if I was ever in love, because those situations were lies, and the relationships were lies, and Love Cannot Be A Lie.

Maybe controlling your own destiny isn’t what it’s about. Maybe Love really is throwing yourself at the mercy of someone else’s mind and emotions and exposing yourself to the elements.

My God, I feel like Hamlet.