As my little dog does a header into his beanbag, rights himself and gets comfortable in front of the fire, I'm sitting here thinking about love of all things. It's rather an un-Della thing to think about. But there we are. Contrary to what it may seem like, my heart is not a little piece of flint *lol*Actually, I do love lots of people and things, and I don't mean in the 'romantic' way, of course. It's just that the word 'love' is one I don't splash around on things.
Just talking about the topic of romantic love with a friend at the moment, and saying that it's something that can make you fly with the eagles or crash to the ground with your heart ripped out and shredded before your eyes. And unrequited love. It's hard to like someone and not know if they like you back... Mmm... those good old coldness-in-the-stomach feelings.
So what's the point of love?
I still don't know, for the 'romantic' version of it. Maybe it's what makes you tolerant of someone and all of their failings and faults and good stuff for long enough until it wears off and you settle down into that deep kind of silent love that just is where you don't care about the failings and faults because you're satisfied with that person. Or something.
*ponders*
I don't think love is like poems, though. Hallmark poems at least. They're too neat and surgical and there's no throwing of plates or feeling like you've been ripped in half and put back together again in a strange way or moments of utter bliss.
Love is a strange beast.
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