Rules of love

If this is your first time here, allow me to introduce myself.

Today’s essay is rules of love. I wrote it.

If your love needs rules, you are in a marriage, and rule numero uno is to know they are two very different things, love and marriage–you know, vast as the differences between chocolate and dark chocolate, iPhone and healthy levels of self-esteem, God and religion, but, but: I am not saying you don’t need rules to hold your marriage together, obviously you do: they are called children, who, in turn, are recipients of rules made up by the same two people who each have also made up rules for one anothe–from one another because you know how a dick-tatorship works and they derive immense satisfaction when the rules they laid (no pun intended) out are followed (maybe that’s what an orgasm turns into like as you get older) and eventually, the rules become a matter of deep pride when followed by the child(ren) because nothing says I love you more than saying I am going to hate my life in the exact same way you hate yours. And that’s what we call an arranged marriage.

Love is the only True thing there is. Marriage is the lie we invented cze truth’s too much work. That’s why all attempts to define love sound shallow.

Until now, that is. Because I am deep and I know it.

Love is when two people, ahem, you know, want to have sex. Everything else is shit invented by people who want to sell you something…that can lead to sex.

With that, I hope I have driven you to enough madness, because that’s where love begins, middles, and ends.

Beginning

The girl in school who everyone has a crush on usually ends up marrying a balding buttery goofball.

When you are with your friends and the girl shows up for you and your friends hoot and scream as you make your way toward her. That’s the standing ovation for/to love and everyone should get one of those.

Two people who don’t know one another, combusting into a smile, is the deepest, briefest, most heart-breaking love affair.

Middle

You have both judged someone as a complete dipshit (correctly) just by making eye contact with one another.

Some people get all dressed and beautiful for no reason. That’s the air love breathes. It’s the thing with feathers.

Some people should love themselves a little less. You know who you are.

End

Majnu and Laila are lovers. You know: Laila and Majnu. Laila’s dad, the menopausal despots that dads with daughters are, has Laila sent away to a different country, for good. Majnu stands by, watching her leave. With the last glimpse he has of Laila, he closes his eyes and stands at the spot, unmoving. Days pass. Months. Years. Majnu, the OG David Blaine, still there, eyes closed. God shows up, cze what else.

God: “Majnu, boy, open your eyes, it’s me: god.”
Majnu (eyes still closed): “How can I help you?”
God (slightly shook): “So you won’t open your eyes to even see Me?”
Majnu: “These eyes are for Laila alone.”
God: “But, what’s so special about Laila? I have seen her and she’s kinda basic, to be honest.”
Majnu: “You need my eyes to see Laila.”

God (turns around to face the rest of humanity):

And you all think love is blind.