Wednesday, June 22, 2016
On Falling Out of Love (with something)
Sometimes I will love something with such a passion that I don't think it will ever die. I will feel as if this is where I am meant to be and my love is just so intense that it's never going to change- how could something so strong, so sure, ever change? When it makes me feel like a dazzling bolt of light amidst moments when I am nothing so much as a swirling storm, made of rain and wet and roiling electricity, the idea of it changing simply isn't a part of the experience.
Because to feel like that- to have something make you feel like that, to find comfort, solace, hope, or love in anything, to be able to hold this thing up and say look at my passion, isn't it startling and beautiful and just perfect?- is one of the most gorgeous things in the world. It is something I yearn for, even when I have it, and when I find it- when I find it I feel so full of glory it can be hard to stand, hard not to share and hoard and devote myself entirely to it.
Sometimes you can gaze at this thing and say look at my passion, isn't it striking and splendid and not perfect at all, but it is good and it makes me happy and I love it, so it's okay.
I understand that it isn't perfect. Not everything is. But I still love it. It still makes me thrill. And what could possibly be better? How could you get closer to actual magic than something that makes you feel like this?
And then, if it does, you wonder from afar: how could that have changed?
Why would it, when it was so terrific and joyful and lovely and not perfect at all, but as close as and all the more wonderful for that imperfection?
And yet... sometimes it does. It will. It has. I have felt it change. Sometimes there's a reason- the character or artist or person behind the work does something, big or small, and it just manages to shift everything- and sometimes there isn't, and I'll just look one day and feel less attached, see less of what is important to me. And sometimes I wish it didn't turn out that way. Sometimes I wish my passion never faded and that it could be easier to distance the creator from their work or the character from their actions, but not really. I have never wanted to support someone whose actions hurt.
Now and again the love fades for no reason at all and one day it's just gone, and you might retain the fondness, or the memory of what there was, even if it's no longer true. You're left with a way of not forgetting.
Sometimes love for a thing isn't constant, and you can put it aside and return to it and feel everything with full force once more, for as long as you're holding it, and you know that whenever you come back next it'll still be there, waiting, and it's so important but you don't always need to have it by your side to know that. You just need to not forget it- and how could you?
And sometimes... sometimes love doesn't fade. Sometimes you touch something and you know that even when it hasn't lasted every time, it will with this. And it is just as glorious and fantastic and splendid for every moment, and it doesn't negate your love for those other things, it doesn't mean that it's better or more important than any other thing that has become less necessary to your everyday life. It only means- to me, at least- that it's love. It is passion and imperfection and happiness, and it changes everything.