I’ve always enjoyed reading about people who are in love, but most of all when that love is unrequited. Vivid pictures painted in details about a saucy diastema, the observed ritual of walking by a certain table every day to get a cup of water for paint, an unsolicited brush against a hip. Stories about awkwardness, weakness, burning desire.
Perhaps it’s because I can relate to these experiences, or because they make me feel like I’m less alone in my own clumsy dealings with the opposite sex. Even though there are countless stories written about unrequited love, there aren’t enough. For the few of us who are “oppressed by the figures of beauty”, as Leonard Cohen calls it, nothing makes us feel better. All we can do is silently commiserate with the words of those who share themselves in this way.
When I look through my old entries, it seems like most of them are about love or a torch I carry in one way or another, and how this affects me.
And sometimes I wonder if this is the reason why people come here to read my words.
If I can paraphrase Franz Kafka who was writing about revolution and what invariably follows in the way of government: “Every passion evaporates, leaving behind the slime of a new relationship”. Perhaps that explains why we are all drawn to peek at the emotions of others in terms of love; it’s a reminder of what we had and lost or of our fantasies, those fulfilled and otherwise.
Oh, and almost everyone is fascinated by the pain of others in the same way that line-ups of gawkers always form at an accident or disaster scene.
I find it comforting (in a strange way of course) to see that others have dealt with some of the same pains and joys I have experienced or are currently going through. It helps me to sort through my feelings and see the truth in them. But most often I love to feel the butterflies and the giddy feelings or the pain and the tears that well up in my eyes that come from hearing about or seeing different paths in life.
You were in my dream last night. Very odd. I havent had time to read here in quite some time and I most certainly dont know you in real life – and yet, you were in my dream. You were tickling me and I woke up laughing. I wonder how dreams work. Last time I was tickled in a dream it was by one of my best friends and that same night she passed away. Definitely not meaning that you will as well, but ever since I have had this feeling that tickling would mean something special if ever occured in my dreams again. And that it would only be done by someone that were within my close circle of friends. Maybe I feel like that because I would never let anyone that I do not know come close to me like that. It’s very intimate act to me, not only the physical touch but also to laugh in that heartfelt and mutual understanding way. However, it was very nice in the dream.
Ah well, sorry about the essay I just thought I should let you know. Not that I think it matters much but at least, it made me think of you and come here read for a bit this morning. Hope you’re doing good.
For me, preciousness is vastly underrevered in today’s world, and your writing revives it.
@Michael — I take absolutely no interest in car accidents and the like; it’s stories of attraction and love that interest me. I’m not sure if this is related to pain, but I suspect it’s more basic than that. Even when unrequited (or perhaps especially when unrequited), love can be exciting when experienced vicariously.
@Lucy — Then you share the same things that I do from reading about people in similar situations. Now I understand why you come here!
@Emma — That is a strange dream. I don’t think I’ve ever dreamed about another blogger, although I’ve certainly dreamed about people I’ve never met before. There’s a certain amount of projection we place in the characters of such dreams, so I’m curious if your projection of me is accurate. I’ve never put much faith in dreams myself, only because nothing has ever come of them for me.
@Xibee — There are so many here, the last thing I think of when it comes to my words is “precious”, so it’s nice to know.
My favorite posts of yours are your love/relationship/beauty posts.
I like it because I’ve gone through it, I’m currently going through it, and it’s like silk against your skin to have someone properly write it out. Emote it out?
You know you’re not alone, you get to revel in the melancholy or unrequited love, you get to have the highs and lows of it all….Love in stereo!
does that make any sense?
I’m sorry…I feel like I post responses too much…
@Zaira — That makes perfect sense…I’ll have to remember the line “love in stereo” for an entry one day. What a great metaphor!
And by no means do you post responses too much. Feedback is always appreciated, especially from those I can relate to.
Ah, the words to reply on subject of unrequitted,
What’s the point of virtual sex? More frustration?
“I love it!” she said. “There is something so sexy about frustration, a fantasy that can never be fulfilled.”
Neil, http://www.citizenofthemonth.com/2008/10/05/change/
I have to agree with that to a certain extent. There’s something about the unattainable that makes it more appealing. Wanting what we can’t have. Although I’m sure that most people grow out of this phase at some point in their lives. Happy people, at least.