Preposition

I have been rather spacey these past few days. I thought I was just really tired from paddling, but I don't think so now that it is morning and I have slept something like close to 11hours. I think there is a lot on my mind, maybe writing would help, it always does.

So right now I'm at work, listening to Elliot Smith and waiting for a ginormous data sync that seems like it would take the whole frickin morning. Of course I saw the email about "only sync what you need" after I started the full sync. Thanks.

The weather is beautiful outside and while I intellectually appreciate it, I don't really seem to give a crap, which is really not how I usually am. Something really isn't right.

There is a topic that I have wanted to write about for quite a while, but every time it comes time to write, it always hide itself away in the back of my mind. It doesn't want to get addressed I suppose. It doesn't want to be dragged out of its dark corner where a lot of my fears hide; and this one, obviously, has become quite comfortable there, gaining strength, and occasionally venturing out on its own to darken my bright days.

It's about this preposition, in. Yes, the word "in", and how it really changes the meaning of things.

Quite a few people come to me to talk about relationships, that is perhaps because I have been through a couple long ones. They can share with me the joys, the hardships and the decisions, because I most likely have experienced some version of what they are going through.

One of the big issues is, what do you do, if you love someone, but you are not in love with them anymore. Or the worse, what do you do, if you are in love with someone, who loves you but not in love with you. How do you know. What do you do.

Fuck. Just writing that (A) turns my face into 3 faucets, (B) make me want to go punch something so hard that there will be blood (C) Bite my nail really hard so I won't do either A or B when I am sitting in the office.

I have been through both sides of that scenario, but both times I was the first to realize it. It is a sad, sad state of affairs when you realize you're at that breakpoint in a relationship.

I am a strong believer that one can learn to love anything. I can hate an album, and if i listen to it enough times, I will discover that I love it after all. We love plenty of things in life, and if you have shared a significant portion of life with someone, it is only natural you love them in a way that is more than the way you would love a friend. But in love? That is something so much harder to decipher. What quantifies that? Some people don't believe in it, but I do. When you are in love, it makes you do things that a rational person with a high regard of self interest just would not do. It is not just the butterflies in your stomach; it is something that is so hard to describe. The closest thing I can come to say is, when you are in love, it makes you yearn for the future with the person in it. It makes you willing to forgo comfort to be with them. It gives you strength to overcome your own barriers, and the fortitude to expose your vulnerability to them. It makes you willing to do very silly things, like call them cheesy cute names, like move to an unfamiliar place, perhaps give up your career, give access to your net worth, and shoot babies out of your vajayjay.

Being in love, makes you willing to give up a good bit of yourself, to make room for the other person; in sickness and in health; for better or for worse.

And you know what? I think they have that as part of the vow in marriage because someone wiser knows that when time goes on, you would lose it. The "in". There would be a time, when you are no longer in love with the person you love. You would want to reclaim that good bit of yourself. This is why marriage is hard, I suppose.

I get sad when I think about this because I feel like it's inevitable. I have heard so many people say, "I wish I am in love with her, I really do, because I love her so much". I get sad, because I feel that unless you are aware and are willing to put the effort in to keep it going, it is very hard to reignite that kind of in-ness once it dies. It is not easy. It is a conscious work of self awareness and empathy for the other. Comfort and complacency can smother it so easily, quietly, gradually. Completely.

The two times it happened to me, I decided I did in fact want to reclaim that good bit of myself. But that good bit is never the same. It gets eroded every time; and every subsequent time, you are tempted to put out less, because you are afraid.

I get angry when I think about this because I feel like I get shafted when I am more self aware and more empathetic. I get angry, because I feel like I always have to do the work. It is not easy to evaluate what you personally want, what you need, what makes you happy and then to express it. When you do and when put yourself out there, naked, exposed, it does not guarantee that the other person would reciprocate the same. Actually, maybe in a fucked up way maybe it makes them inclined to do less, since well, *I* am already doing it. If someone is already doing the laundry, you just put yours in the pile right? Why start your own load. And if that person already always initiate the laundry, would you ever? Probably not. But I guarantee you that the laundry starter probably feels pretty darn taken for granted; and eventually, they would want to reclaim that good bit of themselves, and walk away.

But what can you do, but feel sad and angry and watch it happen? If the other person doesn't see it, what do you do. Do you just watch it die? You cannot make the person do the work, if they don't want to. Even if you tell them, hey, if you don't do the work, this isn't going to work out. Even if you write the letters on the wall. Even if you tell them exactly how you feel and what your fears are. What do you do, when you can see it coming, and can't prevent it; how long can you rely on thinking back in the past how special that person made you feel. The sweet things they used to say. How intimate in every way you used to be. Everything in past tense. How much faith can you put out on a limb, knowing the fickleness of love, that it still is in present tense? How can you put away the fears, that one day you find yourself in love with only a shell of a person who used to be; living a shadow of what you hoped would have been. Even if your daily routines don't change, your time spent together doesn't alter, but somehow, that color of intimacy is faded and brittle like a yellowed page; and you are afraid to disturb the status quo, because it might all just crumble, piece by piece like broken glass, and be scattered by the wind.


You cannot make someone stay in love with you.
And can you ever even know for sure if someone is, if they don't tell you. And if they do, are they just empty words.