Sunday, June 21
I was sitting with someone not too long ago and we were talking about love. It was making me miserable, I said, all this loving, I didn’t know why I spent so much time wanting it, scheming how to get it, weighing up fears and anxieties to try to come to some definitive conclusion as to whether or not it existed. And they said to me, if love is the most of your problems, then you should really reconsider your priorities, because there are way worse problems to have.
There are way worse problems people do have. The world is burning and I am worrying about love. Fuck love. The thing about being loved is that you run the risk of becoming too afraid of no longer being loveable. But fuck being loveable too, and the restraint that comes with it. Someone on either side will hate me for at least one of the things that I’ve said here, but I’d rather be hated. And being-hated is most difficult when the very reason you are hated is that there are people you love from whom you don’t just get to walk away. Everything comes at a cost. But I would rather be hated by either side than say something that I don’t believe.