And I’m glad.
There was once a time, a naive time in my life when I saught after romance from the devine feminine. Women were the angels, the goddesses I wished to caress my blues away, in a romanticism far gone from reality. We’re taught that there is a supposed undercurrent throughout the entirety of society, where we hate women. We wish to possess them and have power of them.
I never understood this notion, firstly the notion of hating women and secondly that there really was an undercurrent of supposed hate. It doesn’t ring true, because it’s largely not true. Being in a world where you’re told you hate women, despite your love for them can get rather confusing. In fact it promotes anger and further it promotes hatred. A hatred that was never there to begin with grows like a callus because we’re told inspite our actions done in the name of love quite often, that we hate women and if we’d just learn the error of our ways, our ways being of the masculine persuasion we’d not only feel better ourselves but the world itself would become a better place.
I no longer hold unrealistic romanticisms, largely due to science. Learning of the brain and how it works, the chemical reactions and the very temporary affects the honey moon phase has over the brain has helped me branch off too a calmer, more realistic version of affairs. But this is all said from a single man, without any current potential partners, who quite frankly finds the idea of sex mostly disturbing and disgusting. Yet I know I am human enough that I could potentially be swept away, like I once was at the age of 18 in the romanticism of looking into some blue (or any other colour) eyes, telling myself “this is forever” when fuck knows there is no forever.