My Idealism of Love Is Shot To H***
I was always a hopeless romantic, the kind who believed in True Love, The One, endless passion, and all of that. Years of heartbreak and disappointment and finally finding an enduring match and moving in with him and the illusion has been shattered for me. I now believe that someone you can tolerate most of time, someone you can count on to give you o****** when they're in the mood for s** and have bothered to shower, someone who makes you laugh and at least has the common decency not to diddle someone else, is probably the best that we can hope for. If you're lucky, you'll also be attracted to them for a few years before it all goes to h*** and age does that part in, too. I now see "domestic bliss" for what it really is - codependency. Passion??? Ha. "Passion" = frequent shouting matches. Your Romeo will leave s*** lying around for you to pick up, your Juliet will feel (and likely also get) fat and flirt with other guys to feel better about herself. I wish I could go back to my idealist days where I thought finding enduring love meant actual romance. Love is a joke. It's companionship, shared responsibility, and a familial relationship with someone you're also having s** with. If you even get that lucky.