Hopeless Romantic

Love. The greatest four letter word to some. It is the heart of every country song and on the mind of hopeless romantics. Something people dream about, sing about, and write about. However, it's really just word vomit spewing out of your mouth. Love does not exist, it's a figment of your imagination, something you have been told that you need to be happy.

But what is love? You can't touch it or hold it in your hands. It's not soft and fury. Some say love's color is red, but that is the color for hate, war, and anger. Conscience? You decide. They don't teach you how to love in school, so it must not be important considering we learn everything we need to know about life in school. You can't say what kind of love you have, A, B, or C considering it's pretty much like hepatitis. And no one wants that.

Emotions. Our ability to have them is the only thing that sets us apart from our brother primates, but do we all have the same? What you may see as love someone else may mistake for gas. What you feel as being smitten is another person's death. How do we distinguish between all of our different "feelings"? You don't.

Have you ever walked by that person so in "love" you want to ralph and completely lose that steak dinner you just shelled out for? They're farting rainbows, like something out of a bad T.V. show. They feel kindred to Romeo and Juliet, which is a a couple of idiotic teenagers crying over "love" or what I like to call hormones. I wonder if they know they are living a lie.

You may be shouting "CYNIC" from the rooftops, or perhaps evil, soon-to-be-cat-lady, but you're wrong. I hate cats. So don't kid yourself you might be in like or lust, but you are not in love. The end.