Love blinds you.
Every kind of love. Love for a sibling, a best friend, daughter, any and every kind of love.
When you love someone, you fall in love with the image of them, not the real person. You fall in love with the ideas that you hold, how you imagine that person and how you perceive their actions. You hold on to their every word, and mould it into something it wasn’t meant to be.
You see, that’s where we go wrong. The other person isn’t aware of the unrealistic image that you have created inside of your head, and hence, often makes ‘mistakes’, that is doesn’t stand up to your expectations, which is purely unintentional and innocent.
At first, you try to make excuses for their actions. They forget your birthday, they must have a lot on their plate. They don’t pay attention to your advances, they mustn’t have understood what you meant. And then a time comes, when you just can’t make anymore excuses. They do something that absolutely devastates you, and your heart breaks.
Now comes the grieving.
You see, you grieve the person you thought they were, because now you’ve finally realized who they actually are. Here, we must realize that it’s not the person’s fault, as they never actually made any promises to you. They didn’t paint those images, enchantingly flawless images, in your head, you did.
It’s when you realize that, they never understood your need to do the things that you did, never liked the songs that you played in the car, never liked those silly jokes you made, never appreciated those lovely gestures you made, never liked ths taste of the coffee at the café where you met, never liked that you read every night before you went to bed.
They never liked you. You never liked them. It was all an illusion, a blindness.
However, it’s not the end of the world. As heartache, no matter how excruciatingly painful and equally beautiful, dissolves that illusion. You see the person for who they truly are. And then you realize, that there’s nothing really wrong with who they are. Even though they aren’t who you want them to be, they’re still lovely.
And that, is the curse of love