No sympathy when shouting out is all you know, Behind your lies I can see the secrets you don’t show, We don’t know how you’re spending all of your days, Knowing that love isn’t here, You see the pictures but you don’t know their names, ‘Cause love isn’t here, You took something perfect and painted it red.—Daniel Merriweather

Have you noticed we don’t slow dance anymore? To grind is appropriate, to slow dance absurd. We are too controlled to get lost in the melody, the gentle sway of synchronized hips, whispered breath as we rest cheek to cheek. That would require you knowing my name, a heightened awareness of my scent, gratefulness for holding me in your arms and not just appreciation for my backside in your hands.

Maybe that’s why the first dance is so special at weddings. For the whole world to see he acknowledges her as forever precious, she stands unguarded yet wholly protected. Between that moment, and the groom’s face when he sees his bride for the first time, that’s the only reason I attend weddings. Those two moments of unabashed love.

In the quest, we’ve lost that; lost the desire to be unwary, candid. We’ve taken something so perfect— the Monet of love and painted it red.

Love is the battle where we both end up with scars; no longer simple, no longer sought after, no longer won. We get into relationships, remain strangers, depart victims. It’s so interesting. At Paul C. Brunson’s It’s Complicated event, I kept thinking to myself how we (both genders) lost the reality of love.

Brunson said as much in his humor-laced tidbits of wisdom, but people weren’t really hearing him. High off drink, high off ambiance; we forgot the high of making lasting connections. It’s not that we don’t believe: men believe in love but are distracted by fancy merchandise; women believe in love but settle when they get tired of the struggle.

Love isn’t a consolation prize. It isn’t a second-best solution. Love is forever.

This isn’t the good woman vs. good man diatribe—this is the notion that the desire to love and be loved in return has lost the glamour it once held. Sure you still find your hopeless romantics wandering the streets, but too soon their candle burns out in desolation.

There’s only so long you can hold out hope before you’re tired of being the one holding the bride’s bouquet. The toss gets rather obvious when you’re the only one standing in the middle. As often as we spout #foreveralone, no one truly gives up the hunt. Hope’s a lonely bedfellow.

So where so we go from here? How do we again believe in love and the power of its might? Do we even want to? Or do we enjoy the new red splotches on a classic piece?


1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. rdavis
    Sep 20, 2012 @ 08:23:58

    love this for so many reasons…keep ’em coming 🙂


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