People always say that being in love is “like” other things. It’s “like drowning,” or “like falling.” Love is likely the biggest contributor to cheesy similes in history – and love poetry is forever seeking a fresh comparison. Like a flower? Been done. Like the ocean? Let’s see some originality, here.
Love isn’t like anything. That’s the problem with similes – they play off of common characteristics, middle-grounds. They capitalize on making the intangible tangible, turning love into the dual natured rose, both beautiful and thorny, and admire the poetic complexity. And we gather around the ankles of the writer, waiting to see what new blossom love might emerge as next.
On the other side of the fence lies in the angsty handwriting lines, reading “love sucks” and “love hurts.” Generally, the feelings described do not encompass love – they describe unfulfilled lust, or an unfaltering obsession. And yes. That does suck.
Growing up, I kept telling myself “you’re not in love. you’re too young.” And I was right. I wasn’t in love. I was a journal-filling angst kid. But now – I’m not anymore. I am in love for the first time, and it’s hard not to beat myself down with a running commentary about my inexperience, youth, uncertainty.
But that’s the truth: I am inexperienced, I’m young, I’m uncertain. But I do know that Love isn’t the ocean, it isn’t a flower, and it definitely doesn’t suck. Socrates suggested that the wisest thing that one can know is to know what isn’t known. Sometimes you just have to sit back and enjoy the ride.