Science has attempted to define love several times. All of these attempts have failed to help us in our personal life. But despite all of our failed attempts collectively define the most common emotion of all—love—we keep on trying.
Love’s is akin to a familiar guest who turns aggressive, takes our heart and senses hostage, and confines us to this state of mind where the littlest of things are a raging miracle, non-believers turn religious, enemies become endearing bastards and this creature next to us – this wonderful creature, whom we gave it all up to – becomes our centre of our happiness.
The loveless, and elitists, frown upon your selfies, but love adapts to our age. Why should anyone look down at a young couple who wants to capture their moment in the sun, when we all can remember our encounter with the darkness with its entourage of sad music and eager bartenders?
Love finds its temporary home at will, and we should only feel fortunate when it glances in our direction. Let the youngsters selfie and reflect on the twinkle in their eyes in the scrolling aftermath of the viral shot. Why belittle it simply because we come from a different world pandora’ed from our childhood’s time capsule.
Therapists might deem “selfies” as a disorder but don’t they belong to the same group of people who wants to drug you? You’re in love – let it soar out of you like a rocket! You might feel like an astronaut in a foreign universe but hey, she feels the same fucking way, too. Enjoy the ride, capture the moments however digital or stupid they may seem to the outside world. It’s your life and yours to live – with you, with her. Your memories will be the fuel of happiness when you grow old. Several versions of you will remain and breathe in that aging body of yours. … to flip through your digital polaroids, and rekindle the time when you were a happy, bewildered fuck with that woman is always a warming snapshot; “There she was. I remember her. Where the fuck is she today?”