How often in our days and lifes is the idea more appealing than the actual person or goal? How often is the prospect of something dreaded more appalling than when you’re actually there living through it?
How often do we fall in love with the idea of something that could eventualy become dear, loved or near to us? How often is the sublimated image of someone or something more uplifting than love, life or death itself?
Could it simply be that we’re just afraid of the real thing? Or is it not more likely that like with all things we simply grow bored by everything after a certain moment? And it would seem that these moments get shorter and shorter. Welcome the new Millenium. So maybe we can live better with the images we make up of things. And if this is the case, wouldn’t it stand for a lot of lost loves, sweethearts, friends and interests?
Reading it out on page now makes me think of a stupid common place in that twisted language of mine.
But, what made Romeo and Juliet the icon a eternal love if not the fact that they simply had no chance or time for bickering, door flinging, pottery bashing, first grey hairs and lines and the shock of seeing their lover wake up in the morning with a crumpled face?
And if this was love’s last wisdom, Stendhal was right after all: “The pleasures of love are always in proportion to our fears…”
And if the fear of not loving at all is bigger than the fear of being wronged or to wrong in love… how proportioned will be a love blossoming out of that fear?
A very small degree of hope is sufficient to cause the birth of love.
~Stendhal, “De l’amour”~
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