A man I’ve been dating texted me last night saying that he was being far too “introspective,” and feeling down.
His request for me to say something sweet to make him feel better, my responses, and our text flirting for the next hour was a lot like rapid fire questioning… fast, direct and to the point. It’s the best kind of text/flirt banter, always delicious in a non-edible way.
My quick fire sweet sweet answer?
I believe in love.
His quick quick very quick response….
There’s no such thing as love.
Had he not been the first man to say this I might have brushed it off, assumed it was a shield to keep his heart safe (what tangled webs we weave). Chemistry is important, but is that all there is?
Since I had heard this before, quite recently in a relationship that crashed and burned before it ever got off the ground, I tried to peel back the non-loving onion.
Him: It’s a chemical reaction that we humans have labeled as love, the reaction to which is a biological response.
Me: What about a mother’s love for a child? Isn’t that real?
Him: She feels what we have evolved to feel in order to ensure our species survival.
Me: By not believing in love you’re depriving yourself of something beautiful.
Me: What about this thing? Couldn’t this turn into love?
Him: I could tell you I loved you. I could mean it. I just don’t have any magic sky wizard juju about what it is.
Him: Hell, I’d get lost in it. Just as a child gets lost in a story about fairies and dragons, but when they were old enough I’d tell them the truth.
Me: That’s a love story right there, isn’t it? You don’t believe in love yet there you are in love with a girl who challenges your opinion of something you’re sure does not exist?
For as much as I think about love and want love and crave love, I wonder if he doesn’t have a point.
And so now as I sit to write I think about all the men I’ve loved and how the chemical reaction may very well have been what I’d referred to as love.
My chemical reaction to them, and to this man’s thinking.
The chemical reaction to a challenge (I think we’re on to something here), and the biological response to kiss Mr. It Isn’t Love’s face.
Call me crazy. Call me insane.
But whatever you do, don’t call it love.
Would you be intrigued by this man or would you find him infuriating?
Ever heard the term sapiosexual?
And how about those people who seem so in love after a million years together. Have they just lucked out in finding a partner whose chemical makeup is too irresistable to their own?
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Sentence Stringer. Art Lover. Fan of All Things Fashion.
Owner of Wills Media Group, the LLC under which I write, teach, manage and administrate for technology-based small businesses and start ups. Focused on fashion, and working with creatives in the design fields, I believe strongly in the philosophy, "Do what you love."
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