A few days ago I wanted to explore a thought I had about true versus romantic love. Right now I could just as easily copy and paste those words but the irony is I don’t have the authority to comment on any definition of love. I’ve gone from as a senior in high school with Kari telling me that I’m completely incapable of feeling anything for anyone to looking back at what a fool I must have been standing in the Christmas Day snow in my socks. Thinking from anyone else’s shoes, that last sentence doesn’t make any sense. That’s the beauty of it — it doesn’t need to. My definition is probably too naïve, or too idealistic to be real.
The more I grow, the more I become the same. The same patterns, thoughts, actions, friends — all alike. I’ve wondered how I end up where I do and I don’t have an answer. I suppose it’s because I let it happen. To some degree on purpose, and the rest subconsciously. It doesn’t matter because all it does is frustrate me and for no good reason. I always think, “this isn’t me.” But… it is. Every time I reach this point I make decisions and I never ultimately follow through with them because I eventually forget why it is that the decisions were made in the first place.