Chapter 17: Sparknote for my Evolving Thoughts on Love at Nineteen years of Age

Tonight we take a moment to define sanity.

Through the course of the past few months we've read many a work - As I Lay Dying, Hamlet - which touch on the idea of madness or insanity, the main point being that sanity is in the eye of the beholder. At times, as with mob generalizations, we might label insanity to be that of the actions of one perceived by the many to be outside of the norm. It's the context in which "insanity" is used mostly - erroneously. But the true meaning lies within the incomprehensibility of the reason and motive behind those actions - that is the thing that is perplexing, that can't be understood. Women - some of them - have a way of action that is incomprehensible to men: why they do this or why they did that lacks any implicit logic whatsoever, and at times I doubt that had they explicitly explained such actions, that we would be able to understand them anyhow.

That all said, I am proud and sad to say that today in the world there is one less girl who we may consider insane.

At times I wonder if a girl can ever be romantic. Yes, it is a bit of an exclusive club which possesses this affliction... but I can say I've met at least a few men who are such romantics, or approach it. But in all my experience, I have never met a single girl who I could classify as romantic.

But first, what is romantic? For a time I never really considered the question... it was, by the dictionary's definition. Someone who wants to love, and be loved, and waxes romanticism. But I've found in recent times that the dictionary definition is what people will always assume, but is nearly never what you actually mean. And so, a romantic is not that bland generalization. If it were, anyone ever in a relationship is a romantic - we've all had those feelings of "love" and being "loved" at some point or another.

Romanticism is more specific... it is that mindset for which love is all-consuming. To love, be loved, every waking moment. When the entire rest of the world could vanish in the next heartbeat... the beat of your heart still could sustain, and be all that I would ever need. Life's capacity: To love, to love, to love, none else. And that's the mistake of the real romanticism, and what everyone else assumes to be - that is the distinction that makes romantics incompatible with anyone less dedicated.

For me, liking a girl - not simply the current but anyone who's ever been like and love and any mode of infatuation in between - has always been consumate. You like someone, but you don't simply like them: you like them intimately, you like them passionately, and you're committed. For a romantic, that is what's meant by "I like you."

But that is where the disconnect is. Because for most everyone... "I like you" is never consumate. They can like-like you, like you infatuously, fatuously, companionately... but never, almost never, consumately.

And that's fine. For some - nay, for most all - it is good enough. A stable relationship doesn't need to be consumate to still be loving, and for both its partners' affections to be mutual and sufficient. You can live a life fatuously - based on passion and commitment - so long as you have those necessary intimate components: close friends or family through which, the emotional and intimate needs are met. Or even those singular types who may exist contently on their own emotional independence. For those people, then, any intimacy provided in a romantic relationship is a luxury, but the relationship can and will exist just fine based on the passion and commitment involved, which fills the only needs that both partners have. Much the same for companionate relationships - if the sexual aspects are not of a large interest for either party, then its absence isn't of significant importance to the relationship - at least not a defining, make-or-break importance. But for a romantic, every single aspect is vital not only to the stability of the relationship, but to the definition of life itself. To love, to love, to love, none else.

But that isn't where the problems arise. Surely, even the staunchest romantic can go without emotional intimacy, go without the holding of hands and cuddling, for a time. Even for commitment - though not completely satisfying, just the knowledge of the other returning the same affections and thoughts is enough, even without any standing, binding, formal agreement. But the problem is the devotion involved.

In the past, she used to be in love with me. And she wanted to be in love with me forever. But, she didn't love me. And that's the break - for all is great and good when the focus of our love was simply passion. We could hold hands or sit together and cuddle and that would be enough for her, and almost enough for me. But what when she tired of the physical? The intimate aspect, that emotional aspect of her life, was something else from passion, and something that I wasn't a part of. But for myself, it was the same and alike with our physical intimacy, and our commitment, my emotional aspect was her, too, or at least I wanted it to be. But you see, she - and every normal person on the planet - had a life outside of me and us - she had emotional and intimate needs too, but those which could be filled as easily with friends or with family, or with whoever. And while for myself, I had many other friends and family who made up the emotional aspects of my life, she was a part of it too. Not only a part, but the integral part; I could not -cannot- be fully content in my life without her, and all of her.

And presently? Presently she likes me. And she wants to like me forever. But she's not in like with me. And I think, finally, I understand her. And so all such perceived inconsistencies in all this time... it is the effect of being incomplete in affection. Last week she seemed to like me, and I can only surmise that it was her emotion, her need to feel and be intimate. And this week we've still been good friends - that's the commitment that sustains us - but beyond that the relationship is suddenly and noticeably absent. At the present she's as intimate as she cares to be, and for her, as everyone else, with that need fulfilled she desires no more - my presence and conversation in our moments, but the rest she may be occupied with anything else, and be perfectly as content. But for myself, I love her consumately. And so when, when like her my desires for intimacy subside, my life doesn't transgress into its occupation with other things and people. Though I can work and interact just fine, my mind, the back of it somewhere, is always with her. And so even at moments with my desires for emotional intimacy, or physical intimacy, subsided, there is still and always aspects of me which still devote myself to her. That is the meaning of consumate affection - and that is the reality faced of all romantics who've sighed every breath of life they've breathed.

Sadly to say, despite my earnest hopes she's not my ideal woman. Nor, I wonder, if any girl will ever be. And so sadly to say, she may still be the best thing that will ever come along, and I suppose I'll take it? She'll be alright; sadly to say, in this resignation I'll still love her to an extent greater than she'll ever be able to comprehend.

And so perhaps, that makes me the most insane of all.