The trouble with love is that we give it too much credit. Our judgements get tainted by what we would like to believe instead of seeing what is stereotypically in front of us. This syndrome leads to substantial disaster and a proportional amount of damage to your ego. Notice how we rationalize excuses to fit the one we love. Women have this inherent trait of accommodation. We are like bean bags that form into the comfort men need so much so that we start losing the concept of our own original shape because we have been so accustomed to shaping ourselves into another. There is no surprise a lot of women acquire the disease of dating down. We have lost the idea of what we want and have become malleable to what is available for the taking.

Like looks for instance. Go back in high school and you’ll realize that you would never have looked at the man you’re dating now way back then. But now you have reasons that cloud your judgement such as talent or personality or humor that make up for the lack of palatable appearance. I wonder, when did we start offsetting relative features? We have grown so accustomed to mediocrity that we have fallen down that slope even further. From compensating looks to no looks at all and treats you like shit but you stick it out anyway because you think no one is ever going to love you out there cause even this man couldn’t stand you. And because we have lost so much ego in the process we end up feeling dispensable that even ugly people leave us.

It’s not even just the physical appearance but the way they treat you as well. Women are beings of good faith. We ogle in reverence over happy thoughts and ever afters so much that when men screw us over we immediately think there must be a logical reason for him to have done so. Then we beat ourselves night and day figuring what that reason is and somehow we come to the conclusion that the trouble is actually us. We notice what we lack but never realize what may be wrong and lacking in them. Perhaps because the only factor we can control in a relationship is ourselves that is why we tend to carry the burden of responsibility alone. We never got to discount the fact that he probably wasn’t any good in the first place despite your active belief that there was more to him than what everyone else sees.

The thing is, we’ve been wrong most of the time and yet we keep thinking we can be right this time around. There is no fixing to a man who is messed up. More so it cannot be done by you. Reality sets itself to pain you because if and when you are able to fix him, he leaves you and is now fixed to be with someone else. We prime the man we love with so much substantial qualities he may not have possessed in the first place but we believed them to be because it is what we subconsciously want, for us to be entitled or legitimated. What if he wasn’t so great in the first place? Is it not a sad thought? That we have fallen for men who are less than we valued them for? Only to blame ourselves for giving them so much credit? I feel like we have been reduced to focusing our eyes on buying what’s on the sale rack when we could afford the price of a premium offer.

And when you figure this all out you are worn and depleted by the many who have come before today and have left you to fend for the pieces of what’s left of your broken heart. The trouble with love is that we believe in it anyway. Telling yourself that the next time you try again you swear to be smarter. You are the type epic love songs are made of. When only lyrics tell the gravity of your pain and you play on repeat in every woman’s iPod. Like Adele, only real.

Death Cab for Cutie had it well written when they sang, “Our youth is fleeting. Old age is just around the bend and i can’t wait to go grey. And I’ll sit and wonder of every love that could’ve been. this is the sound of settling.”

Don’t waste the years. Don’t waste the tears. :|

10.20.2011/ 11:51/ Missy 545

You and I are two of a kind yet I know not why we choose to stay lonely
I see you and you see me, in a crowd but lost completely
And I wonder what it is in these smoked fogged nights and alcohol mornings that we cling on so much
We long to fall but are so, so afraid
We twirl in the same chaos over again then decide against good caution for a chance to feel infinite
Then we lose it as we lose ourselves and after that we are no longer the same
I see you now but you don’t see me
I’m in the crowd but I’ve lost you completely.

M.A. 545