There is a reason I call this my journal and not a blog. I’m not one to follow the conventional microblogging that is Tumblr (I’d like to differentiate my twitter from my tumblr, thank you very much), but rather use it as a place to express whatever I want or whatever tends to sit and ferment in whatever-it-is-that’s-up-there. Sometimes my thoughts are unfinished, jumpy, or just ended abruptly, but that’s what happens when something just leaks out of a mind. What’s been sitting in this noggin’ for a long time now is love. I want to talk about love. First and foremost: fuck. Where does one begin? With a summary? With a quote? With an explanation? Oh dear Zeus I have no clue where. I guess I’ll start with saying I know love. At least I think I do. I have experienced many forms and types of love. People have come whom I have loved, they have left, and others have come in. Things have come and, again, gone. Nothing is permanent. Bluntly put, that utterly sucks because I’m one who hates change. But there are some true loves that have stuck with me, and regardless of how they will change, I will forever love them in some manner or another. What is it loving someone? What IS this?! I’d like to think I am wise. Actually, I do think I am wise. It’s an ambition of mine to be a respected, trusted, and wise sophisticated person. Yes, I believe today that I am these things, but tomorrow (or even later tonight) I will look back and abhor the arrogance I claim. Every day. My daily self-frustration is so repetitive, the frustration itself is becoming a bore. And as I am not one to bore easily, I get frustrated. Oh, repetition how I adore thee. But this means I am growing as an individual, no? If I can improve myself, regardless of how minimal or significant the enhancement is, at least it is progress. And with the self, no matter which direction you move, it is always forward—thus progression. Every day I get wise, and can thus every day get closer to knowing what love is. But what if the two aren’t associated? Wisdom and love. I’ve known lovers to be wholly vacuous, and sages loveless. Perhaps love is not designed to be understood. Maybe it is not something graspable. Is it possible we are just supposed to go with it and not think of it? That seems to make it easier; never have I ever heard of anyone fully comprehending the situation of besotting of another. You cannot. If you can think of it, and try to educate yourself of this love, well, it must be love. When you love someone/thing, there is no thinking. You just know. There is no erudite knowledge, only genuine knowledge. And genuine knowledge is something you know. You know. You have experienced it. You have uncontrollably felt it. That’s why when one asks “how will I know when I am love?” the only answer is, “you’ll know.” You’re now thinking, “Ben ur silly you thought of luv so u arnt in luv lolz.” No. I know. Whatever. I’ve got butterflies, and I don’t care why. They are there, and hooo-ly fuck would I not be okay if they were gone. I have so much love to give, that girl sure is lucky. Why do I love? I just do. And I am okay with that answer. I’m okay with the truth.
