Thoughts on Love: The Mind of a Hopeless Romantic

Generally, I like to avoid over indulgence in personal anecdotes. But recently, I’ve been finding myself torn asunder by the winged creature we usually call Cupid. I’ve decided to jot down some thoughts on the whole thing – not getting too personal, don’t worry – and see what everyone else thinks.

Rise and Fall

After watching a video illustrating the beauty of color, only to be soon turned into gray, disappearing smoke, I couldn’t help but think of relationships. Bleak sounding, I realize, but it’s analogous in most cases – or at least I would imagine.

My conviction behind things all good things have to end and that love is no exception is further strengthened by sitting and watching the ocean. The waves can have so much power at times – so much passion. But alas, they too fall and are pulled back into the sea.

I went to music for another view. Perhaps it was the law of attraction or my luck in listening, but I found myself listening to “Nuvole Bianche” by Ludovico Einaudi, a song I was first exposed to when watching “The Mountain.” It too carried the power, the passion, the fervor of color. And yet, it too also proves there is an eventual fall.

This led me to wonder, is this simply the nature of the universe? A bang followed by silence? A wave follow by a crash? A rise destined for a fall?

Worth the Ride

At the same time, even if the above cynical thought process be true, I can’t help but to be tempted to not care. Who cares if there is eventually silence, a crash, or a fall? Isn’t it worth the ride? All good things may indeed come to an end, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t take the journey.

Besides, as the universe seems to enjoy doing, there’s always that next rise. And sometimes, that next rise is better than the last. Sometimes just waiting for that next rise (or feeling like its coming) is better than the last.

And for those who see no next rise, looking at love like a sneering, somewhat clever but ever-mocking phenomenon, I repeat this age-old cliché: it’s better to loved and lost than to have never loved at all. I would rather hear music only once than to never hear it. I would rather have seen color then gone blind than to have never seen it at all.

Seemingly, despite my ambivalence toward the idea of love, I feel like the constant struggle, the constant anxiety, the constant stress is well worth it. There are definitely pros and cons, but I think there is a clear winner here.

Certain of Uncertainty

If there’s one thing I’m certain of, it’s that I am naïve in my pursuit toward knowing. What do you all think? Intelligible ramblings of a hopeless romantic, or is there something here?