Romantic love permeates every pore of our society.
Almost every movie has a romantic element. Every single song under the planet seems to be about love.
It’s pretty universal. And as a species, we’re pretty obsessed with it.
This got me thinking about the reasons we crave romantic love so desperately.
Maybe it’s because we’ve been brainwashed by the true love stories in movies and books. It’s a fantasy cooked up and served to us by Hollywood and now we’re all addicts.
Maybe it’s just biology, a deep-rooted desire ingrained in our DNA for the purpose of procreation.
Maybe we’re all just lonely, in some dark recess of our hearts, and want more human company and love in general, and we direct all this emptiness towards a desire for a significant other.
Maybe we feel like life is meaningless and love would plug up the hole of existence with sparkles and butterflies.
Maybe we want a partner just to feel good about ourselves. To validate our own being, stroke our own egos. Look, I am attractive enough to have someone love me! Or to have someone there to invariably support us and believe in us, when life has shaken our very souls and laughed us to the ground.
Maybe we just want to be understood and believe that our true love will be the one glorious human being who will truly know us.
Maybe we think romantic love will make us happy. Love is a drug, right? It can make our lives deliriously blissful. At least temporarily.
I think that we want romantic love for a combination of these reasons. Maybe an amalgamation of them all. Maybe life and love are forever entwined in a romance of their own, like two snakes that occasionally stop spitting venom and flash their emerald scales and dazzle us, hypnotize us, leave us wanting more. The perfect chicanery.
Maybe there’s no reason. Maybe it just is, the same way we exist simply because we do. There’s no reason, no up, down, left or right. It’s an uncharted dimension and we just have to explore it without ever knowing where we are or why we are there.
Or maybe I want romantic love because I just want a shoulder to cry on. A pair of eyes to stare tearfully into that reflects our own misery. A hand to hold. A warm body to hug when a cat won’t suffice. Someone who can hold me tight and tell me that everything is going to be okay even when it’s a lie, even when they know themselves that life is never just okay, but not bad or good either, just changing, just life. Maybe I’m searching for a home for my heart, body and soul. A place where I can feel safe and peaceful. A place where someone will stroke my head and sing me to sleep after my parents no longer have the special touch, no longer have hands big enough to hold up the moon and stars.