A good friend of mine always says, “If I don’t fall in love at least once each day, I consider it a day wasted.”
But with all this talk of love, can you really define it? Does this thing called love really exist?
According to the “ever-reliable” Wikipedia, love is defined as “a number of emotions related to a strong sense of affection and attachment.” This makes love seem like a creepy stalker-like idea, way too technical.
Love can’t be defined by a Google search.
I’ve learned from my wonderful English professors, concepts like “truth,” “justice,” and “love” are difficult to define because they vary from person to person.
As the stereotypical lovesick fool, I catch myself staring into the eye’s of a beautiful guy or girl, watch their kissable lips.
Even Shakespeare would call this cliché, but I can’t help but say that the reddish coral shade of her lips suddenly makes my favorite color look dull. Even with the extremities of love, the overwhelming feelings, and knowing that there is no guarantee when it comes to matters of the heart, I can’t help but fall in love over and over again.
Obviously, love is not a joking matter, but essential to life. Simply put, love is anything but easy. But at the end of the day, love is worth every single tear shed, every false pretense of happiness and every lost friend.
These last few years, I’ve developed an appreciation for love, not just sex or tokens of affection. The sound of my lover’s steady breathing regulated mine, the stable heartbeat became a melody to my ears and every flaw was seen as a passionate characteristic.
I always wanted to tell the love that got away, “If only you knew that every time you touch me, I can barely speak. Every time you hug me I stop breathing. Preying on each moment, each brief encounter makes my day. You see beneath my overconfident front that disguises my nerves. Sweetie, you are forever my ideal, my utopia.” But that just may be the crazy lovesick poet hidden inside of me.
I admit to having succumbed to this lifestyle drowned in love, but to this day I allow myself to dream.
Wishing I could kiss the eyelids of a lover before they surrender themselves into the night. That way my beloved could think of me as they dream.
Regardless, no matter who you are, endure this thing called love; in that one moment where everything seems alright, all because he or she smiled at you, your life seems complete.
Narisa Imprasert can be reached at nimprasert@ut.edu.