Life is surface. We’re all slaves to this pattern, this habit. We do what the next person does just . . . because. That’s the way it’s done. That’s the way people live. School, college, job, marriage, kids, house, then you die and your offspring follows the process. Not that there’s anything wrong with it. I guess there’s not. We need guidelines. We need patterns to follow. It gives us a sense of comfort, of direction. What feeble beings we are! How could we ever survive without those patterns?
Sometimes love is surface. Maybe people now days don’t understand it, maybe they’ve changed it. Or maybe it’s always been surface. Maybe that’s just our weakness as human beings, our falling point. Whatever the case, love is lacking substance. Its shallow. Its void. The world is in a pattern . . . you date, kiss, marry one another. You go good together. You have a lot in common. You post pictures on Facebook, selfies . . . oh so cute. You live in the same house and have a lot of laughs, only still . . .
Isn’t there more to it? This thing . . . this pretty word? Love. Love. Love. Can’t understand it. If it’s real, then why does it go away? Why do couples break up so easily, after supposedly being in love? Why do marriages fall apart, two or three kids later? Because it really is shallow? Is that it?
No one falls in love. It doesn’t exist. Love isn’t an accident. Love is a choice. Love happens because you let it happen, even want it to happen. Love is deep, a beautiful tree, with roots that finger their way around your heart and never let go. Real love never goes away. Real love is as strong as death. Real love makes you willing to sacrifice. Real love will always draw you closer together, no matter how big the storm. Real love isn’t about patterns, or social media, or words. Real love isn’t shallow. If it is, it’s not love.
So when you live your life, follow those silly little patterns. Go to school and maybe college, possibly get a job, and definitely get married, with children a plenty. But when it comes to love, follow no patterns. The ones set aren’t worth pursuing.
Love . . . like no one’s ever loved before.