I am in love with an idea, a concept derived from my hopes, fears, conquests failed and won. I love a distortion, tinged with a myriad of light sent through the prism of my conditioning, poured into a bucket and exploded against the wall. I imagine my beloved to share my belief in the basic dignity of one’s life. My idea is biased and hopeful. I search for and find evidence that you are everything I dream of.
We share a respect for traditional romantic experience with a dash of deviance. I expect to be unforgivingly challenged. I imagine you will allow me to extract your essence to share in openness and mutual exploration.
Alas, that is not who you really are. I can only hope and wish to see you clearly, but my desire to be with you interferes with that.
So what’s a man to do when his illusions are shattered. When we each discover that each is as self-interested as the other. I propose to love as if the illusion were real and embrace the flawed perfection you are.
The adventure has to be one we agree to enjoy together. Knowing that what we perceive is not what is.