A little pre-Vday post

Falling in love is the most dangerous thing I know of, with the most painful consequences, and the highest failure rate. It's the only thing that people still continue to do despite the odds being against them. People get their heart all tied up with someone else's, even though they're risking it all--their sanity, their pride, their independence. A hundred other things. I am convinced that being in love is a legitimate kind of insanity. You basically hand over a huge part of your self, and sort of have this trust that the other person won't fuck it up irrevocably or forget about you or break promises. And you share all these things--jokes, food, roads, states, beds, families, hands, hopes, inexperience, experience, friends. It doesn't make any sense. But then your belief undoes your disbelief, I guess. Or that's why people keep doing something that seems so impossible, at any rate. Or a lot of times, I feel like we're all just selfish, love-sucking masses of hormones.

I'm not saying that falling for someone is a bad idea. It's one of the best ideas, ever. I just can't quite reconcile the before and after feelings. The before: I remember feeling with all of me that this was so unlikely, yet so pure, and I was terrified of destroying it.