Love: A dream that is too beautiful for the world

This confession comes from looking backward and inward about past relationships where I have failed. Love: what a terrible and wonderful thing. So precious and delicate, perhaps love is more than this world can handle, at least I find it very difficult to handle. As a man much better than myself once said, “Friendship as true and honorable in all other affairs than the office and harlot of love.” Too quickly we abhor ourselves to its sweet confession to another in the hopes that love is true, somehow we feel as though we must utter it,, as if the words had power, as if they we magic, we utter it often, sometimes in a whisper, others out loud, or sometimes in writing. Perhaps some of the best things in life are left simply unuttered, far too important to be left to articulation by written or verbal communication. Perhaps love is truly pure act, or in other words love is only pure actuality. Too often have I fallen to the sundry colossus of the heart and, too often have I given my word without the most important of all things, the action of that unattainable, indescribable, unrequited love. Far too often love is just a real good feeling, and when we utter the unthinkable in the phrase “I love you” in hopes of uttering something else, something that is less than love, perhaps it is a feeling that the English language is unable to capture, for more than like in our culture is love, yet not love, not love enough to bind ourselves in sacrifice to another, or at least without the thought of an uninvestigated alternative. Looking back upon failed beauty I find that in uttering that unthinkable phrase I have become stained, We would like to think that we somehow innocent when we have uttered those words to another, we would like to perceive the situation of feeling good with another will somehow turn into someone who will become our one and only, However, love is never what we thought it should be, love is what it is, beyond, strange, unthinkable, daring and above all beautiful above all things, it is never what we think it could be, love is always more not less. When we have uttered those words to another and fail, we paint up our secrets attempting to hide behind a hedge of lies, we wonder where the dream of unabashedly, unapologetic, radical, naïve love has gone, especially when the world gets in the way of our dream to love. The obstacle in this case, is as in most beautiful things my own mind, allowing the world to get in the way, currently I am not even listening to myself because the weight of having uttered that unthinkable and daring phrase is more than I can bear.