What Love is To Me

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My problem with romantic love, is that it blinds us.

It blinds us in a way that anger, nor sadness, nor joy cannot.

It blinds us, and continues to blind us, because it is good.

It is good they say

Love was Troy's reason for waging war, and destroying thousands of lives to steal Helen away from her land

But he did it for love, they cheer

Love was why Ares is painted as the savior, despite his brute force and blatant ignorance of her passion for Hephaestus' marvelous gifts

He loved her, they chant

Love was why d'Anthès pursued her even though she never asked for it, she didn't ask that Pushkin duel him for her neither

In the name of love, they shout

Love was why Carazzi battled de Pettinella, though neither stopped to ask if Fabio wanted that

Anything for love, they roar

Anything

Death, destruction, pain, and more have been pardoned, excused, because they were done in the name of love.

How many more lives must end, how many more people must suffer, before everyone opens their eyes to this madness?

Love is not sweet nothings whispered in the height of passion,

Love is not freshly picked chrysanthemums,

Love is not long walks and deep talks,

Love is nothing of what we imagine it to be,

Love is a weapon,

Love is a dangerous blade,

Love is an indestructible shield

And we fear that truth, we are scared to see the poisonous thorns that surround the fool's gold that is love

But I implore of you,

open your eyes,

and see what love really is,

Love is blinding light,

Love is searing pain,

Love is opening your eyes to darkness,

Love is blinding.

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