You’re out at a café, sipping on mostly burnt, but adequate, coffee that is “Arabica” type, which consciously you know the barista has no idea about. Nonetheless, you drink coffee and peacefully read your book about gardening or whatever it is you like.
Then, he/she walks in. Going with she, because I’m a guy and have a stiffy.
She has long, dark hair. Cat like eyes. Radiant smile. All of these are noticed after the incessant staring at her absolutely wonderfully shaped arse. Priorities.
Your heart rate goes up a little bit, and being an ideal man – example being me – you smile at her and she smiles back – an expression of interest.
Eventually, you strike up a conversation. You both laugh and you make shitty jokes. She gently touches your arm during the conversation. She’s into you, and you’re into that bossom.
Feelings get a little fluttery and intense. You get the fuzzies. She gets the fuzzies. You eventually meet up again later for dinner. Things get a little hotter and heavier, and it’s not just because of the shitty burritos.
Eventually, you’re slamming your tongue down her throat and grabbing at her aggressively in your apartment. You both get naked, and achieve oneness in the form of a very intense sexual session. You have successfully liberated her arse from the prison that is her panties. Which are lacey and black.
Congratulations, you’re in love, and things continue into the future.
The only problem is, you start to imagine that she’s more than just a hot woman that you’re very compatible with. You see her as “the one”, and “the universe”, and “my baby boo”, and other terms that can tranquilize a horse with the amount of condensed cringe they contain. The rose colored glasses are now lenses permanently fused into your eyes. You’ve become a complete idiot.
Over time, this causes a problem. You’ve magnified who she actually is into something Godlike. Something that you must worship and praise and kiss the feet of. You’re pedestalizing her and while she’s thankful, she’s actually resentful. It’s annoying, and your lack of integrity and incessant grovelling is beginning to piss her off.
Eventually, hottie mclovelyarse leaves you, and you’re a shell of a man. “How could the one leave me?” you cry, and wonder how you can even function as a human being after her. You consider whether it’s worth living anymore. You start to look at everything in a nihilistic way. Fuck this coffee. Fuck that reflection of me. Fuck this world. I just miss her, and she’s a total bitch for leaving me. Why me, you yell.
And then you think, and sit, and think more. Through your pondering, you start to question how you approached her and saw things. You start to realize that the concept of the “one” is kind of stupid, so you drop that. She was never the one, she was just a particularly hot one. The one is a mythical illusion that humans, in their complete and utter lack of wisdom, imagined because it gives them some kind of meaning beyond God and obsessions with being an “activist” to grasp at.
Then you start to question this idea of romance and idealization. You start to realize that the concept of romance is actually kind of bullshit. You identify that it’s all just fantasy. You have people in this world. Some of them you quite like. You like them because they have shared interests, a cool personality, or they’re just really fucking hot. Through that you either befriend them or sleep with them. And that’s it.
Sometimes, you lose them. Sometimes, they stay. Ultimately, they all eventually go away.
But through all this realization, you conclude that romance really is bullshit. Idealization really is bullshit. And then you let go. And through letting go, you have an amazing insight.
All the pain, the misery and heartbreak you felt was magnified one thousand fold and almost caused you to throw yourself off a cliff, because you made a fantasy out of it.
So you learn. You grow, you find peace, and far quicker than you realized. You become you again. A much better you, a you that can live on their own, in peace, and with confidence.
And when you meet the next hottie with a nice arse, you smile, introduce yourself and get together. But this time with the knowledge that yes, she’s hot, she’s got a great personality, and boy does she get my junk energized..
But she’s just another good one, and there’s no such thing as “the one” or “romance”. It’s a dry way of looking at things, but in the long term it’ll keep things very wet in the bed.
Enjoy while it lasts.
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