I think it's okay to fall in love. What we consider love to be, usually whimsical at best, is a hopeful testament to human nature. For all that we consider human, therefore, revolves around love. And if there exists a sentence in this post without the word love, perhaps I don't really know what love is. But we all have a clear idea of what it, that is love, consists of. It's the quirkiness of pursuing that grants us an emotion of sympathy, joy, and excitement. In the oddity of it all, the most mutual of all feelings has us in the grasp of other humans. We live for a "lover," whether it be found in a divine being or a perfectly designed human being by, ironically, a divine being. Maybe I'm getting a little ahead of myself. Regardless, it's true, admittedly so, that we become the most pathetic in the midst of a situation involving a lover. So, for all the happiness it brings, we hate it. We're jealous of other people, even friends of ours, and there's always the weird sense of belonging that comes with being in a relationship. Or at least I think there is... Then again, why listen to someone whose never studied this late at a library before. And this isn't even studying. My weak mind has decided to put off studying for the pursuing of a fleeting sea of emotions. I tell myself it's okay to fall in love in hopes that it'll quell some of my paranoia. Wait. I don't think I'm even making much sense. It's funny how the thinking of love can make you forget about love, or at least what it really pertains. Sacrifice. Dedication. And even love in love are all things that come with love and make us forget about love. For a brief moment, I think realizing that love is a mere word becomes absolutely important. Humans have put too much emphasis into a word that we often lose sight of the actual object. Categorizing a person as "love" or any modified version of that word needs to be ignored. That is, until, we also realize that we can't say "Kevin, I Kevin you." Fine, then I'll allow the use of love in this instance.
Even after writing all this, I'm not exactly sure I know what love is. If you, the reader, even read up to this part, I must say, I love you. For, you see, the word love has become a phrase of absolutely superfluous necessity or a term well represented in every other emotion we feel when we meet "her." (okay, or him). Besides that, what is love? Well I know as much as to say that it's okay to fall in love. It sounds lovely, cute, and well within the realms of my desires. To say I know anymore, or to even dare publish this article, however, is perhaps too reckless of me. The end conclusion of this? There really is none, except that I hope some of my thoughts made sense. Maybe just one? Or two? I honestly don't even remember what I wrote.
If you were to ask me what I thought about love now, I'd say it's damn whimsical. It is damn whimsical.