There’s a Japanese folk story about a crane who tricks a man into marrying her by pretending to be a woman. She knows that her beloved won’t want her if he discovers she’s a bird, so at night she stays awake and tears out her feathers with her beak.'I love you' every now & then sounds more like a punch line statement being said by everyone to just about anyone more in virtually then the real life reciprocation. It sounds so fucking convincing that it would make you turn into a lunatic believing that the other person would die if the person was not held into arms right away & shouldn't be completely ignored, no matter for how much of fractions this would or would last. As if you were the only person, they were clinging on to in there desperate attempt to lure you 'that you meant the whole world to them & they would die if they meant nothing to you. The 'thy!' (talk to you later). seems to have by now already fled, done over the talking & the next moment you see there was no later at all when it came into ones realization of believing that there were or might be any chances of conversations likewise soon or later or ever. But no they were meant to be never - never again, since they were ones self-centered thoroughly chosen attempts, in there brutally lustful interest to acquaint you for a momentum to their self satisfactory infatuations - in totality wherein love was just a mere desperation in disguise - trying to fiddle with ones emotions in order to rectify there self indulged ego - just pacifying there desperate attempts to get laid.
Love doesn’t start off difficult to believe in.
The first, even the second time you love someone, you’re starry-eyed and openhearted. You rush into relationships with the unshakable eagerness. You’ve been starved for real love all of your life and suddenly there it is – available to you in abundance. So you give and you take and you want and you demand so much. If your expectations fail to be met, you just pretend and invent. Even the falling apart of the relationship possesses a certain poetic tragedy. The good things cannot last forever and you know that. And so, you try again. You fall in love again. You hope again. You feel again. You have faith again, that this one is going to be it for real. And you repeat this process as many times as it takes. Until somewhere along the line, something goes wrong. Something inside of you breaks in the place where it has always only bent and in a swift, unexpected instant, your heart falls cleanly apart. And now, all that’s left is the real stuff.
Love was never a pretentiously disillusioned play, it had been always there in its truthful sanity. Love never disappointed its givers or takers, It was only the fraudulent practitioners & preachers trying to achieve a high by ways & means through there petrified exclusionary insanity - trying hard to barter a deal to achieve the necessary. How easily random, cunningly weird & miserably fake one would turn out to the other - ridiculing love to be of a surreal entity, & its existence being assaulted for there own unrighteous endeavors of gratification. Love was being crucified. Thus resulting to make us believe that love was a mandatory discrimination, that was exclusionary.
"In a way, we are all virgins of real love unless and until we first become jaded".
There are many who wrongly believe into there self presumed theories of love, & they never realize and understand that, love was not to be run after, it would follow its own course & would find you, if at all it was destined. We need to be enlightened to accept it when it comes, & not shoo it away,just because we think it to be not worthy. We need to grow up & experience though life, what it really meant & how it was to be brought into practice.
There were seldom various versions to it, which one could possibly not see, or be intuitive about, resulting in many of us getting hurt in ways so many. No matter in what dialects orientations by nature it comes forth or whatever its terminology meant - the one and only was to get through the real one is through practicing. As they say 'practice makes a man perfect'.
At the end of the day, you have two choices in love – one is to accept someone just as they are and the other is to walk away.
Real love has nothing to do with mutual admiration societies or self centered gestures, in ways of luring thy through fake enacting logistics of a practically unreal, unhealthy, inhuman tantrums of political dramatics. I wonder how far would one go, faking it, climbing up the ladder on to thy shoulder, getting all thy needs attended and personified, & still not finding a way to deal with the real love. Sadly, I see love going into ashes, rising & falling apart - all foggy - all so disillusioned have the hearts become, for they all by now think from there clever witty minds & they would never take for guaranteed anything that came form the soulful heart. Who shall they crave for & whether or not they could ever be mesmerized? They only have learned the art of ditching & betrayals, for they only knew to make the world paralyzed.
Your intuitions will come to your rescue, but you got to judge them wise, and not get misguided between the real & false. It would be not as hard it might seem to find ones that truly could love you but then, it would always be you nature to nurture your longings in the way you perceived. If at all you ever made an attempt to love someone, irrespective of odds, then my friend, your world would have by now already heard the lullabies of love.
I wish 'love' never had a tags & everyone could just go about loving blindly, irrespective of odds & would not even expect that the ends would meet, but then that would only become one heck of a nuisance in itself if it was not reciprocated likewise, as expectations are prone to rise, when there is indulgence of sorts & loving thee could only be promising if only thy was being loved in return to the fullest wholeheartedly.
Whatever love you’d trick someone into giving you would be love for an act, and it’s hard not to feel contempt for people you can trick like that. So you won’t really like them, and what they like won’t really be you. It’s a reverse Midas curse, turning what should be gold into dust. You’d get love in the same move that would make it worthless.
If at all it matter's to you the most 'let it be in real' - for there is just one life, & there was not much of time left in our hands to rejoice love & be at peace - sufficing it & acknowledging, if we were to only end up struggling to fight for love'. - Anonymous
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