One of my favorite writers, Tom robbins, once asked, “Where does love go?” That one is too complicated for me. So I’ll just ask, where does desire go?
A long time ago (that’s relative, right?) I was told that “romantic love” or “passionate love” evolved to last about 18 months. Then it was to be replaced by something more lasting.
“The only way to hang on to the ‘in love’ feelings, as opposed to loving someone, is to create drama,” said my advisor. He was a wise and learned man, but I still resented the message.
I wanted to feel the rush of sexual tension whenever I saw my love. I wanted to want him as badly the 1000th time we went to bed as the first time. I wanted to crave his scent, the texture of his skin under my finger tips, the feel of his lips on my curves and hollows.
Where does that go?
When did brushing out my hair become more important than holding him in my arms? When did correcting an annoying mannerism become more important than protecting his feelings? When did judgement replace acceptance?
I can hold my tongue, but how do I refresh my feelings? I can fake anything I choose to fake, but how do I convince myself something is true when I don’t believe it is. If I am the problem, how do I get a handle on what I’ve lost, and give it back?
“You have to answer the question: is it better to accept what is, or better to wish for what can’t be? Is stability better than chaos? If you’re not satisfied with the relationship, can it become something else, or do you want to end it and go through this cycle again with someone new?”
It may be more mature to accept those options, but I didn’t like them when I heard them the first time and I don’t much like them now. Even more now, for some reason, as the holiday season draws near.