Spoiler! :
There are a few things that I've heard about love over the years. "Love is patient," "love is kind," and "love is blind," and all that stuff from the movies. But no one ever thought it a good idea to mention that love is a synonym for hysteria. Love is a synonym for insanity and an excuse to cry for no other reason but to do so, but because, but for the heck of it and because it makes a girl crazy in the end. This, although a very crucial detail in the matter, was never accurately described to me, and I’d like an explanation, or a redo.
And as a result of my apparent cluelessness, I found myself falling in love, falling madly and horribly in love without the appropriate caution. There was no chance to brace myself, and I couldn't think about it first, at least not to the extent that I wish I could have now, in hindsight. I couldn't consider the pros and cons on the matter, and therefore I could not have considered the possibility of spending the rest of my nights troubled and confused, listening to cute love songs that I found on the internet after typing "cute love songs" into the search bar.
So this here is my trouble. This here, spending my time occupied by thoughts of a certain someone that I found a particular interest, concerning myself with the worry of whether I was funny enough or smelt good enough for him, and wasting my thoughts on considering the chance of good fortune in this case, is my trouble. But my biggest trouble is that I can't turn it off.
There's just something dramatically funny about this "love" thing despite all of its hidden misery. And I think all that misery is the jist of it. Love is miserable, but there's something lovely about that misery that makes us realize how special a sunrise is, even though the sun rises all the time and nothing ever seemed special about it before…
It's how this kind of misery can influence you to drive for hours in the middle of the night for the sake of that one person of interest. But you don’t think twice about it because the misery is lovely.
This misery also causes delusional dreams, dreams in which said person of interest walks you through a mysterious town, a mysterious town that would otherwise be unpleasant on your own. Then you realize, in the most miserable of ways, that you could be in the most miserable of places, but this interesting person could push you along and you wouldn’t fuss. You wouldn’t fuss at all.
And that's the thing about this misery. This misery called "love" makes us feel terrible, even those of us with a sunny disposition. You feel miserable because you don’t know how they feel or because you can’t imagine how you could ever be as important to them as they are to you or because you can’t stand being away from them.
These things are all miserable. They make a person feel miserable.
But the thing about love is that it’s lovely, and it makes a person feel lovely in the end.
Because love, despite all its misery, is a really happy thing, a really crazy thing, and a type of thing that makes a reasonable person accept even crazier things, like falling in love.
My trouble is that I’ve fallen in love. This is a fact, and my concerns, self-doubt, and misery can’t separate me from this feeling called “love.” And the craziest thing about it isn’t the way this love makes me see past such terrible things.
The craziest thing is when he laughs. I like his smile.
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