By Sophia Angeline G. Delantero
One of the things that people do not admit the most is that they do not understand love.
Love, in its purest form, is a curse that makes us believe we must be someone who we are not. It turns us into poets, monsters, and, worse, irrational beings that breed impertinence.
“We accept the love we think we deserve,” a quote from the book The Perks of Being a Wallflower, declares the defects and foibles of a moving mortal trying to dig up the grave of a lifetime’s work of begging. This exposes the core of every individual having a restless urge to touch someone’s soul even if that soul also yearns for another.
A human, no matter how literate, no matter how intellectual, no matter how wise, if they fall into the trap hole of this element, is done for good because love, per se, is dyslexic. It disarranges your capability to think, it inverts your morality, it destroys the blocks of your truth. No one is smart enough to figure out what this four-letter word even means or how it works. It just consumes us until we figure out that it is our downfall.
This is an uncalculated chemistry trying to mix up the bloodstream and the prefrontal cortex’s function, that regardless of how operational it is, a moving mortal will always end up in a state of deterioration.
People are always caged in this circumstance, as they choose to suffer and endure it religiously as if this were the faultless definition of holiness. But despite the shortcomings, they still opt to dismiss them because humans are hard-wired for suffering and self-destruction.
We are insanely addicted to accepting this substance, clinging to it as though it were the only justification for our existence, the lone thread keeping us tethered to a world that has never promised compassion. We consume it like a sacrament, convinced that every laceration it leaves behind is corroboration of its worth.
One of the things that people do not admit the most is that they do not understand love.
We are just mere individuals longing for a devotional soul that would worship us as sacredly as our love for them.
But too late, we have already turned into the most beautiful devils who are slaves to this repulsive and abhorrent concept.**
