October 28, 2002

After I broke up with N.T.—or, more properly, after N.T. broke up with me, that fucker, not that I’m bitter—I had a stunningly obvious realization.

Every book we’ve ever read and every movie we’ve ever seen has told us that love is something you feel for someone who is the perfect best friend, the perfect roommate, the perfect lover, the perfect intellectual companion, and the perfect conversationalist.

Clearly only a raving lunatic would expect to find all these in one person. So, just as clearly, this can’t be what love is.

That was my realization about love. My question now is: so what the hell is it?

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6 Responses to After I broke up with

  1. D.R. says:

    I don’t know, but it’s fucking driving me up the wall.

  2. adam807 says:

    Perhaps you just need to be a raving lunatic? I think you’re not far off. Embrace the insanity, and you’ll find love!

  3. etienne esteban says:

    You forgot “and a top.”

  4. mike says:

    It’s like no book you’ll ever read, and it’s like no movie you’ll ever see.

    And perhaps that’s about the only definite thing you can say about it.

  5. Sounds like “thirtynothing” by Lisa Jewell…

  6. Q says:

    It’s love when you can actually put up with the person day after day, 24/7. From there, you can work on creating the rest.


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