We fall in love, hold hands, kiss and stuff even. We can never get enough of that pulse pounding rush when we're with the one we love. Every minute counts, and parting is such sweet sorrow.

The one we love. Notice that there's this ring to it. Too many people I know are looking for 'The One' when 'The One' might as well be 'the one' with the small 't' and 'o' and in turn, might as well be the same one with the big 't' and 'o'. Minus the issues. Get it? The one we love can be as simple as that.

I was a victim of this 'One Syndrome'. I found a woman, and I tried capitalizing the 't' and 'o'. But it looks like those wouldn't change even if I asked them with puppy dogs eyes and crystal shining tears rolling my cheeks. Maybe the idealists of such things are the ones obviously doomed to such fate. The realists get all the action, but the idealists sneer and hold their nose up and say, "Meh, that won't last. I'm reserving myself for 'The One'. Coz I know it's the real deal baby."

So eventually the idealists grow old and become realists themselves. All the theories and principles of idealists in the world cannot mold the shape of mountains anyway or command the clouds to be fluffy this way or that. See, there are just some things that are simple like that. Except ofcourse, bonsai plants. Bonsai plants are really things of beauty, though can't help but consider the plant's feelings of having to have to be stunted to be beautiful. I mean, it's just like being made to wear really, really little shoes to look cute.

I hate cute. I want a fighting, no-holds barred, mano y mano, guns and roses kind of ... whatever. Or maybe I'm just saying this because what I really want is cute. Who knows, maybe it's just another mystery that'll take a couple more lifetimes to figure out like love. And that is by spending it in a Zen monastery with cuckoo birds and mossy temples -- and baboons feeding on your loin cloth.

Which brings me back to love. I hate love. Oxymoron eh? I think love is innately biological as well as emotional. We are wired to it whether we like it or not. Unless ofcourse you're born Hannibal Lecter then I'll stay the hell away from you. Who knows what brand of love you'll be expressing with that shiny ball point pen you're pointing my eye at. Can love survive as purely emotional? Maybe. We mortals are known to be capable of anything.

Maybe even capable of being The One for SomeOne, if we put our minds to it. Though I've been tired hearing that thought in my head over and over again that I tune out just by, well, thinking of it. So let me put it in a simple matter as much as the word(s) that comprise it.

Just go out there. The one who wants to be with you is just out there. Somewhere. Phooey.

If I am a waste of everything you dreamed of
I will let you down
If I am only here to watch you suffer
I will let you down