A friend just sent me a story of young love. (Very young love. Seven? Eight?) It was adorable and sweet and cute. These stories keep cropping up around me, maybe because I’ve been reading a lot of YA, or maybe because it’s been in the movies quite a bit.
Somewhere along the way, I stopped believing in romantic love.
I keep watching and reading these stories, and I catch myself wondering if love can really be like that. If I reach hard, I remember what love was like when I was young.
Can it be like that when you’re older, too?
Letters to Juliet seems to think so, but so many of the stories involve young teenagers. The Twilight novels captures love well, especially given its foundations in Romeo and Juliet and Wuthering Heights. These stories of romantic love have resonated with us humans since stories began.
Love is an odd thing. Having been adopted, I think I grew up with a keen awareness of the limits of love. Maybe that in itself precludes me from believing in unconditional love, or the type of love worth dying for, or a love whose loss we won’t survive.
The world is a hard place. Maybe we grow up and realize that we can, unfortunately, survive the loss of everything we hold dear. But should that realization diminish the feelings of love within us?
Lately, I’ve been yearning for a love that I’m not convinced is even real. And I avoid writing about it, simply because I’m not wholly convinced of the kind of love that finds its way into our stories.
But does it exist? Am I just missing it? What about you? Do you believe in love?