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When you have the time, and when you're of the mind for such things.
Eric’s Guide to Infatuation, Imaginary Love, and Finally Speaking your Lonely Heart
A little broad and a little daunting, I know. But it’s something I’ve been thinking of a lot lately, because I am oddly in love again. That’s the main inspiration, but the motivating factor was an anonymous comment left on my last journal pertaining to my very dearest friend in the world. This is in no way an attack or a comeback to whoever it was that wrote it. They are, I know, completely just in being hurt, and I respect their anger completely. Boldness and Honesty are essential, and you have encouraged me to put down my own thoughts, not directly about the current situation, (which is spectacular in it’s intensity, and life affirming in it’s passion) but as usual, a mish mash of my own experiences that I obsessively mull over for meaning. Thus begins my guide to the uncompromised beauty of Infatuation, Imaginary Love, and Finally Speaking your Lonely Heart.
The Beginnings
This new love is my fifth… damn. I have met five of the most extraordinary women in my life just dancing around in the Groves theatre department. It’s always starts with enthusiastic friendship, These women have been so beautiful, so stimulating, such stirrers of my soul that I couldn’t help but hang on their every word and gesture, dying to know more, hear more, see more. And it’s never sexual, I don’t think imaginary love is, (If you’re missing the Rufus Wainwright reference the lyric is “every kind of love, or at least my kind of love, must be an imaginary love to start with”) it’s far to exciting, mysterious, un-ending, that it could never be bottled up into something as misunderstood as sex. If it is sex, it’s the real kind, where touch, and existence and absolute adoration is the focus, not some anatomical exercise. I’ve had many lustful “crushes” but the difference is the maturity and power that comes with imaginary love. It’s like when I was a little boy, I loved icicles because they were glass-like and seemed alive and ever changing, my way of expressing my love was to smash them from the roof top and splinter the pieces. Now I stand next to them and run my hand along their length without making contact, my joy is being near them, letting them soak into me.
And this is the difference with love.
Imagining Love
My favorite part, because this is when even the darkest winter blooms. I’ve been enticed and dazzled by the singular beauty (Five of them, my God) and now She is all I want to think about. I wonder in fantasy how She, with her complexities and bright darkness, would be next to me, with me. I’ve had beautiful dreams that were of course crushing when I woke, but love crushes inevitably.
I only feel right mentioning Leah here, because she is the only one that returned my imaginary love. And it is imaginary, much easier than the real thing, one has more control, but not a clue as to the beauty achievable in True Love.
Leah and I loved each other for two months without the other ever knowing it. We couldn’t tell each other, she was a Senior, I a Freshman. She questioned herself, while I believed she would never date me. In the middle of months of crying I clearly remember one night in my kitchen. It was dark and I was alone with a glass of water, I fell out of my chair sobbing, screaming to God that Leah was the Perfect girl for me, I’d found her, she was perfect, I was able to know it then (and she was, regardless of what may have happened later, perfection should be taken while it’s there) but I also Knew (Thought, thank God) that she would never love me, that it would never work.
Happiness won over doubt and it did, she loved me.
So please Anonymous Poster, understand that when Pure Imaginary Love presents itself (as it has in our friends, I hope you can see) you have to take it. If you didn’t life would not be worth the pain of it all.
Infatuation
This is where it all goes stale. The brightness of seeing your love’s face starts to succumb to the dull ache of being without them. It can become a genuine Hell, where everything hurts and all of nature seems out of whack, or it can be just delightful (as my current one is, partly because I’m pretty happy where I am and don’t need much to come of it) where I get to think, oh (insert name of wonder here) would love this, I wish I could share it with her, I just want to show her everything, share everything.
But it gets worse and worse as time goes on, because the things I didn’t share keep piling up, I feel like I betrayed myself and the girl by letting all my happiness slip away secretly.
And then, in only the most advanced infatuation is the explosive need to share how I feel, It’s just wrong to have so much love for a person and never let them know, because love is scarce in this world, it needs to be shared. Which brings us to honestly, the hardest part of all of imaginary love, and really a step that I’ve only done directly twice, once with a happy result, once… not so much.
Saying It
Late one night, in his car, parked in a salt scorched parking lot, about a month ago, I got closer to my best friend Nick than I think I have to any other person in my life, except maybe Leah (maybe). This night with him majorly confirmed my belief in a soul; Something transcendent and essential in every person, that could touch, or become one with, or what ever crazy sounding crap you like, with another soul. I think this was possible for a few reasons. Language is not perfect, and so much of the time people simply don’t know exactly what to say to make themselves understood, Nick is my oldest friend and the person I think I know best, we have been trying to understand each other for years and have just recently really become able to connect fully. (It’s wonderful) I sort of imagined this very straight and very direct line of thought traveling between us, because we built our shared thought on simple exchanges, and then built upon them, staying with each other the whole time. The failure comes when I try to communicate something deep and complex, to someone who doesn’t know me well enough to appreciate my meaning. Like with this girl. My feelings were simple, but the words I used to describe them were not. This was a mistake, I feel awful for dumping my vast stores of emotion on a wonderful person who did not expect or understand what was going on. When the feeling isn’t shared simplicity and precision is key. But I still don’t know how to be understood.
When the feeling is shared you can pretty much send them a giant wall clock with “I’m Coo Coo for You!” written all over it in pink magic marker and they’ll come running into your arms, but who among us is so lucky?
So you see Anonymous Poster, sadness will always come with passion (don’t I know it) and it is Incredibly hard. We all spend half our lives freaking out about it. So when it works out, however messily and painfully and happily, can’t we manage a smile at the Glory and Wonder of it All?
Please.