An Open Letter to All Lovers
rating: +2+x

What is love? What is it, that you write your poems about? What is it, that you say you live for? Is it, perhaps, a little like inebriation? Does it dull the senses and make the world feel alright for one long moment of grand delusion? Or is it more like being caught up in a crowd's overwhelming enthusiasm? Does it make you say and even do things that you normally wouldn't even think? Does it make your head all airy and empty and completely incapable of thinking anything in opposition to the pathos of the moment?

I ask because often, when love is praised, the individual's helplessness in the face of love is named as one of its hallmarks. If love is like any or all of the things mentioned above, why do you want it? Why do all the poets praise it? "Love!" they cry, "oh, how you hurt me, but I want you so!" Does that not describe masochism at best and addiction at worst? The literary record is clear on this. Love hurts, and love makes us hurt ourselves. The sheer quantity of love-caused suicide in literature is staggering. But despite that, we don't think badly of love, or even the harm it does. There is little doubt, that the only reason we have never stopped mourning poor Werther's unfortunate demise, is that in truth we never started to mourn it in the first place. On the contrary, apparently there was a great amount of envy towards him, if the enormous pile of corpses cosplaying him is any indication. They saw the tragedy. The demise of a mind plagued with an obsession over love. But instead of pitying the poor guy, they proudly wore his colours, waved the banner of lethal love high, and, with all their breath, shouted their battle cry:"Dulce et decorum est pro amore mori!"

You love stricken happy few will now be eager to say how love gives happiness and purpose, that I would understand if only I would know that happiness and purpose. Perhaps I would. Perhaps I would understand and agree with you, if only I knew that happiness and purpose. But could the same not be said about the mindset of those that march in step with insane populists? Those poor souls also tend to think very highly about their obsession, and they also tend to shoot themselves when their delusion demands it, or it fails to withstand reality and leaves them exposed to the whiplash of the real world rushing in at them at an uncaring speed. Do they not find happiness and purpose in their thoughtless existence? Could one not say, that we would understand their actions if we would only know that happiness and that purpose? Would we, because of that, want to be like them?

Yours truly, a very lonely asshole.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License