Don’t you just hate infatuations? And if you’re anything like me, you tend to imagine too much and over-think things, all of which only serve to fuel the Lovey-Dovey Machine Of Airy-Fairy Not Real Dreams. You become a powerhouse, churning out broken dream after broken dream.

And no matter how terrible it feels, we still love it. Because we’re in love with love, and the feeling of love, and maybe we need to grow up a little bit more before we can let infatuation’s steady sister, true love, worm its way into our lives.

Here is a typical cycle of infatuation for me:

Sees object of infatuation → Falls in “love” → Start analyzing and watching them from afar like a creepy person → Falls further in “love” → Pine and mope internally for years without plucking up the courage to talk to them → Obsess over them AKA dream about the perfect marriage, the perfect holiday, the perfect argument, even → Get worried about how long the infatuation has been going on for → Tries to talk to person → TOO SCARED → Tries again (and again and again and again…) → Rejected (at this point, anything other than an emphatic declaration of love is perceived as a rejection) → Wallows in misery, write epic love stories and poems about it → Sees a new object of infatuation → Cycle repeats

Here is the infatuation cycle for normal, sane people.

Sees object of infatuation → Talks to them → Friendship/romance/apathy ensues

Why do we do this? I think it’s because, as I said before, we’re in love with love. We love the drama, the ecstatic highs and the bone-crushing lows. In many ways, we’re like addicts: hooked on the feeling of pining and yearning and loving from afar. It’s almost masochistic, in many ways, like the page who tries to serenade an untouchable noble woman who stares down at him from her balcony. Maybe it’s because I’m an INFP, and nothing gets our eyes shining and our hearts going than tragedy and pain and longing and loss, all of which are beautiful in their silent misery and suffering.

Or maybe, deep down, it’s just a way for us to avoid the true thing: that is, of actually letting someone into our hearts and minds and souls. Even though we yearn for love so hard our souls tilt our of our chests with hunger, we’re still scared of it. When we let people in, they mess us up, rearrange the organs, skew the heart, and tangle up the veins and sinew. Letting people in, so they can see both our light and good sides, is terrifying. We idealise ourselves as much as others, and for another person to see our refracted rather than crystal-clear self is agonising. Daydreams, in the end, are an act of avoidance: we don’t want to face reality. We’d rather stew in quiet, imagined pain, rather than actually be stabbed, butchered. But even dreamers know that no fantasy can ever compare to reality.

So. We must grow up, a little. We must talk to people, even if we’re afraid of being shot down. We must wrangle our way out of our heads, push ourselves upon the world outwardly rather than inwardly. We must build our sandcastles in the real world, even if they pale in comparison to the crystalline towers in our our minds. Sometimes, floating down from the clouds allows us to truly enjoy the riches of the earth, and, let me tell you, there are many to savour indeed.


9 thoughts on “Infatuation

  1. I totally understand you. Just last night I was dreaming about my “love” again, and it’s kind of weird, but I like to imagine I’m a princess and he’s a lowly servant or whatever and we can’t be together. So then we escape the castle and evade the evil prince who wants to marry me for my wealth. We basically go on this whole elaborate journey filled with magic and fairies and trolls and we have the perfect arguments, Then we break up for a little, but find each other again and have the perfect kiss under the moon. And we realize we love each other so so much…and we live happily ever after. After that I usually switch it up and imagine I’m part of a secret spy organization and…oh god. I’m sorry, but that’s what goes on in my head each night before I fall asleep. I’m so hopeless, and I haven’t really even talked to him. Sorry for boring you but I’d love to hear all about your fantastical dreams with your one true “love.”

    • I like your fantasies… But mine are too abstract, deep, tragic and intense…
      Well, I don’t know why I feel the same about me, “hopeless”…
      To share a secret with you, Praise be to my LORD, my “love” loves me too, and interesting thing is, she made me profess my love for her, otherwise I would have died but kept it a secret. But still there’s a distance between us, a distance of “coercion”, i mean there are complications… But don’t know what to do… And even after all this, I still feel hopeless…
      Listen try talking to him, more or less, don’t keep it all in your heart, at least try communicating with him…Hope it’d help you…:)

    • I do the exact same thing. In fact, I’ve even considered writing fantastical romance fiction as a sort of outlet for it, though it seems a bit too self-indulgent. Let’s see…I’ve had many. The princess and the servant one sounds so romantic. Beach holidays, rescuing a man who is drowning in the waves while out paddling alone beneath the moonlight. That sort of thing. Hopeless romantics unite. 😀

  2. The thing is, though, that people are so much more interesting when you don’t know much about them. Certain personalities and people make good writing material, but only if you don’t actually talk to them, if that makes sense. He’s not really my “love,” just another crush, and I’ve had a lot of those over the years so I wouldn’t actually worry about talking to him. Idealizing people is so much better than actually talking to them and realizing how normal and boring they are. And I don’t mean that in an offensive way–reality is just dull and pales in comparison to my imagination, I guess. Anyways, thanks for the compliment and I hope you two get over your “complications.” 🙂

    • Thank you for your compliment in fact… And I can comprehend this idea of yours, like being in love with the “love”… Appreciable yet we should keep reality in check as well, in stead of side-lining it totally… I mean no offense. It’s for both of us…:)
      Anyways, happy loving…:)

  3. This describes me so much I can’t even express it. I have a crush. (There’s a reason why they call it a crush.) And I’m getting disillusioned. He said no, no, no; he doesn’t like anyone. That very moment, time was stilled and my lips froze in a half-smile. The air seemed to me like crystal shards splintering; two halves of my heart separating, fibre from fibre, vein from slick vein, and the circuit of atmosphere groaning in quiet sympathy.

    And then after that. Pause.

    A few hours later, my brain churned out a new fantasy as if nothing had ever happened. I gave up.

    As Taylor Swift said, the story of us looks a lot like a tragedy now. Sorry if this doesn’t make sense, I just want to whack my mind.

    Peace out.

    • It makes complete sense. And you described it wonderfully. Frozen, crushing, splintering pain. It’s a terrible, terrible moment. Thankfully, everything is temporary. You will recover. Nothing can hurt us, really, except ourselves. And, yes, we always have our fantasies to comfort us. )

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