Love is Alcohol

Love is serendipitous; found when least expected, but elusive in pursuit of it.

Much of my life has been a solo expedition for love in an attempt to garner happiness. Through this voyage I failed to find the love I was searching for, but was able to discover that love cannot be expedited.

I have been heartbroken and I have had my heart mended. The process repeats itself but the people don’t. We repeat the process of falling in love, having our hearts shattered, and finding someone to piece it back together until we find the person with super glue. That’s marriage. Even though the process is identical step-by-step, it’s different at the same time.

Each new love is different, the first being completely unguarded and haphazard while the last is a safe with a thousand locks; each new combination found is a reward itself and closer to the treasure, the heart.

There is a type of love that completely takes your breath away, and it’s not only from the nervousness and wariness of the power of your own feelings. No, it’s the beauty in the other person’s soul and in their physical being. It’s the mention of their name bringing you so much excitement that you hyperventilate, then once you gather yourself, you run out of breath listing and describing every little detail that makes your heart beat faster. It’s listening in amazement as they discuss their thoughts and feelings, consoling them when they’re despondent or dispirited, and always supporting them following their dreams.

This love is what everyone longs for and anyone can fake in order to think they’ve found it, but it cannot be forced. Once it is felt, though, it won’t be forgotten. People refer to love as a drug, heroin or methamphetamine, and I’ve been guilty of that in the past as well, but I prefer to relate love to alcohol.

Reaching this level of love is like being severely intoxicated because I have loose lips. I am fearless. I have no care in the world of the consequences for my actions or words. If rejection were a gun held against my heart, I would still feel like I am bullet proof and scream my love to the stars. Drunkenness accelerates my heartrate just like feeling so strongly for someone that I want to give them my own beating heart as a symbol for my love for them. Veins and arteries traverse miles within our humanly stature, carrying blood to and from the heart so we can live. Giving my heart to someone is saying that I would travel all those miles just to prove that they are my source of life.

This level of love is the same as being drunk because my decision-making skills are questionable at best, only with different motives. If I want to give you the world, I’ll try my damnedest to do just that. Sleep is barely attainable, but rather than the room spinning around me, you encompass my thoughts.

I am actively under the influence of love. I’ve wanted this sense of inebriation to consume my heart ever since I first felt the tender sensation. I am an alcoholic in the name of love., but no matter how intoxicated I become, the rudiments of past failures remain present and foreboding.

Despite wanting to announce to the world how much of my heart you occupy, I know I cannot. Just like liquor, I have to take love slow. Too much, too fast leads to disaster; alcohol poisoning would be the result of both.









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