Oh hi. I have never written a blog, and I’m not quite sure what to say or why I should say anything at all really…but sometimes, I want to say things. Three days ago I began my senior year of college. After three and a half years of complaining about school, I have come to realize that the possibility of graduating is scary.
I am an English major. I love poems. Lately, I’ve spent a lot of time wondering about love, mostly wondering if it exists. Doesn’t it always seem like everyone else is getting married or settling down and you’re kind of stuck? I’m stuck.
I shouldn’t be stuck. I’m a twenty-two year old woman who is well educated, living in the big city by herself, and enjoying drunken (and sometimes sober) weekends with her friends. So why do I feel like I am not where I should be? I guess the reason is this ridiculous standard that is set by no one in particular, that applies to no one in particular, that I feel I must meet at a certain age. Love. I have never been in love. I thought I was in love once or twice, but I came to find that differentiating between love and lust is not as easy as you’d think. Oh, I often lust…I fall in lust daily almost. You know, you see a handsome someone on the train or in class, but after a relationship is started, watered, and on its way to cultivation, when does it bloom from lust-bud to love-flower?
What about love at first sight? Ridiculous. Or is it?
I guess the most frustrating part of all of this is that I feel like I’m missing out. Shouldn’t I be all butterflies and flitting around with starry-eyes? How do we know that love really really exists? Isn’t love supposed to last forever? Tell that to the divorce rate. Please, do not get me wrong. I love love, but with so much evidence to the contrary, how can I truly believe in it? This is something I struggle with often.
Someday…. Until then, I will satiate my lust with poems like this one by E. E. Cummings:
since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;
wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world
my blood approves,
and kisses are a better fate
lady i swear by all flowers. Don’t cry
– the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids’ flutter which says
we are for each other; then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life’s not a paragraph
And death i think is no parenthesis
And sometimes it seems clear…because the beauty of his words are hard to compete with in the battle of “does love exist?”.