“They can keep their ordinary love. I want to drown you in passion and devour you every night.”
~ A Gentlemen’s Lounge

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Love isn’t supposed to make sense. It’s supposed to make us feel alive.

Tonight I bottled up that mediocre drink called normalcy—the one that’s labeled “drink me,” yet holds no promise of magic.

I refuse to drink even a drop of a potion others so easily consume and then wonder why they wake up miserable every crimson daybreak.

Because my truth is that I don’t want a regular old plain-as-day, it-makes-sense kinda love.

Nah, what I’m craving, what I want, is the kind of love that challenges me, yet takes me into its arms and kisses me like it would be torture not to.

Love isn’t supposed to be logical; it’s not a business deal or an equation for which a right answer can be found.

Love is this crazy, magical, irresistible force because it is unexplained.

And while I may have kidded myself about what type of love I am willing to accept, a truth has begun beating in my heart, its whispers growing louder: the only love I actually want—is the one I can’t live without.

I want to be consumed yet stay free; I want to be drunk on love yet never have seen the world more clearly. I want to be embraced by someone who feels like home yet also something I can’t quite name.

The thing is, I’m not after a regular love, because I want a love that inspires me.

A love that makes me want to be a better woman—not because this man among men would want to change me, but simply because we would naturally encourage one another to reach for even greater heights.

I don’t want to fall into love, but to grow in it. Maybe for some people “happily ever after” is just too bland a fate to ever really accept.

We are fools for love, believing in its possibility even when our hearts know no hope. It doesn’t matter if we are tired of being alone, or start to tell ourselves that maybe we just aren’t made for it. None of that matters, because as we crawl in between our cold sheets and wrap ourselves with the thoughts of the day, our hearts whisper that we wish we had our person here with us holding us close as we fall asleep.

And we can call someone our soulmate, our lover, our twin flame—but really it’s just that they are our person.

They are the individual who sparks something within us that we never knew existed; they open a door to a world that perhaps we had lived in fear of, but to whose wonders we were drawn all the same.

We ruin love by trying to explain it, and we destroy it by forcing it to live up to the logical ideals that we use to try and explain away the magic.

We push away the very thing we want because it’s at the wrong time, in the wrong packaging, or maybe just because we feel wrong.

We crave the amazing, then wonder why we never actually find it.

In order to find that love we are seeking, we have to unlearn everything we’ve been taught about it and approach it differently than we do anything else in our lives. Love is more than hormones and chemicals, it’s more than physical attraction to sinewy bodies, and it’s more than commonalities.

The combination of the seen and unseen, passion and feeling, wants and desires, vision and ambition—love is a connection that binds.

I’m not talking about the love of blind dates or one night stands. Nor am I talking about college hookups or the ones we invite in out of loneliness. I am talking about our “one.”

Whether we want to kid ourselves or not, the truth is that we all have a one. The sad fact is that because we expect love to be logical, we don’t always choose them.

Perhaps we find happiness, but we never find a love that sets us on fire.

And maybe not everyone needs the flames of passion and friendship colliding, stars breaking out in unison when two people perfectly accept their imperfect selves and vow to help one another grow in ways they can’t even imagine—but I do.

I can explain everything in my life with science. I can use psychology to determine what childhood issues I’ve worked through as an adult, and I can draw a map of my dreams—but I want my love unexplainable.

Something tells me we all do.

We all want a love that makes us believe in magic no matter how old or skeptical we are; we want someone to take our hand and sit in the quiet with us, letting a moment of understanding sink down to our bones.

A love that can f*ck us on a Tuesday morning before we both roll out of bed and make slow love to us on Saturday night, falling asleep to the sound of the other person’s peaceful breathing.

A love that we sit with over monopoly and hot chocolate, or, just as comfortably, dance with erotically to jazz in a dimly night club; a love that has faith in a higher power, and cuddles up in sweatpants on a quiet Sunday evening.

A love that can make us laugh, cry, smile and curse—possibly all at the same time.

A crazy love that changes with us, letting us ebb and flow in the directions that our hearts pull us.

So, call me crazy, but this is the only kind of love that I’ll ever settle for, because it’s not supposed to be logical—it’s just supposed to be love.

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Author: Kate Rose

Image: Prayitno/Flickr

Editor: Toby Israel

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