I used to have some pretty naive and idealistic views about love. I can admit this.
Not sure where they came from, because I didn’t really see any examples of these ideals growing up except maybe in Hallmark movies. Most of the relationships I witnessed in person were filled with arguments and frustrations and a lot of strife intermixed with some joy and minimal romance.
And yet, I held onto the belief that my ‘one’ would one day show up and see past my awkwardness and horrific fashion sense and see the beauty underneath. He’d be perfect for me. And he’d love me as if I were the most precious thing he’d ever seen. His fire for me would never go out. We’d be kind and gentle and oh-so-perfect for each other. Always. Effortlessly.
I also, for a short, but very painful time, believed that if it was right … if it was love, real deep magic love … that you couldn’t fuck it up. The love would be too powerful and would overcome all obstacles, no matter how many mistakes you made.
What. Tha. Fuck. Whyyyy did I think this?
Ahhh yes, now I remember where these ridiculous beliefs came from. The church. True love waits. When God writes your love story. Blech.
Oh, how woefully, wonderfully wrong I was.
I mean, seriously. How naively hopeful and blissfully ignorant could I have been about love?
Of course you can fuck it up. Everything — every SINGLE thing — is fuckupable. And that includes love.
But that’s honestly a good thing.