I love the idea of love. I love being in love. I love writing and reading about love. Who doesn’t want to float on a cloud of oxytocin? Love is hip, decorated in heart emojis and rainbow flags, especially in light of a tragedy. Love heals, love distracts, love prevails, except for those who bury a piece of their heart 6 feet under with their loved ones.
Our lives are defined by who we loved and how we loved them and how they become part of our legacy. Our lives are a series of moments strung together like Christmas lights and love ignites them, allows them to burn, and gives them purpose.
Yet every real love story is ultimately a tragedy because one has to leave the other first. The only guarantee about a love story is that it will end – either through break up or through death. We love and we lose and we carry on, with gaps in our heart like swiss cheese, for all the love we lost. Even the quintessential fairytale phrase, “happily ever after” is an impossible contradiction. It’s impossible to predict the future and presumptuous to assume any couple will be perpetually happy.
Our happy ending is the one we are living TODAY. Every good day that ends without tragedy, pain, bad news, or conflict is equivalent to a silent ride into a vibrant sunset.