Love … makes you feel exalted, doesn’t it? It makes you high. It makes you feel like some secret aristocrat. If only the world felt what we felt: that’s what you think. It makes you smug.
All the world loves lovers. And lovers are always in love with themselves. With their love. With their being in love. It’s a recipe for smugness.
Do you think we look like we’re in love? Do we charm people? Do we lovebirds remind them of the possibility of romance?
It’s like we’re elevated above everything. Like this is the most important thing in the world. Do you feel it, too? Are we in love, in love, in love?
There’s an absolute divide between us, and them. Because we’re in love. We’re, like, a loving elite. Who feel their love more intensely than anyone else. Who live more intensely. Or something.
Lovers staring at each other. Pleased with themselves. With their love. Pleased with themselves in love.
I want to thank nature personally. Thanks, nature. Thanks hormones. Thanks, desire. Thanks, lust.
Like we’re exalted. We’ve exalted ourselves. Lifted ourselves out of the common run.
Lovers are so pleased with their love. They think it makes them so exceptional. But really …
We’re, like, flattered by our feelings. They make us feel exalted. Like something important is happening.
This is like a holiday romance. It’s like we’re on holiday, and it won’t last once the spell is broken. Once we have to go back to reality.
This is our sentimental education. Do you realise that?
What are we supposed to be learning? What’s the curriculum?
Work in Progress 