Monday, November 30, 2009


I've never been the most romantically-charged woman. Or at least, I've never been a stereotypical romantic girl. I only like Pride and Prejudice when I'm feeling blue, I don't like Patrick Dempsey, I think Twilight is alright for an afternoon read but not much more, I didn't write "Elisabeth Chandler" until my name was no longer "Elisabeth Bogart", I don't need Mr. C. to bring me flowers on a regular basis, and I'm comfortable with the fact that sometimes love doesn't work out.

But sometimes love takes me by surprise.

I'm surprised by how many people search for love and can't find it. I'm surprised by the fact that some people shut down love because they're scared of it and I'm surprised that, despite this, love still makes the world go round. I think that we often forget that love is not a simple word. Love is one of the only words that can fit into any part of a sentence, but mostly love is an action verb. Along with this, love is not just romance. Love can be found in all corners of your life, and I think this is forgotten too much. I love the feeling of falling in love with words, with ideas, and with art. I love so many different things, and sometimes the way these correlate make me love everything just a little bit more.

For example, I have not been feeling well the past few weeks, and two weeks ago I found some old sweatpants I used to wear every time I painted. The pants are trashed. Naturally, I wore them and have worn them to class three or four times since. And Mr. C.? He's not even embarrassed. He still loves me even in my painted sweats. Weirdly, this makes me love Mr. C. more...

It also makes me love my sweat pants more.