“One never loves another/One loves what there is of oneself in them/Or what one thinks there is”
-Fernando Pessoa (Boal, 135)
This quote made me re-evaluate my thoughts on love; love for oneself, and love for others. What is love? Alas, an ambiguous question left for interpretation for every individual, because we all describe and define it differently. Does this mean that opposites do not attract, but rather that those that hold similarities, and mutual characteristics, are the ones that we gravitate towards. As individuals, no one is the same; we all have differences. Is love only present when we neglect the differences? Is that when we fall in love? And when we discover the differences is it when we rapidly fall out of love and begin to torment ourselves for ever believing that the other individual was like us. We thought we knew what love was, and then we realize that we never loved another, but only what was familiar, our own reflection…are we then narcissistic?
In Lak’ech, tu eres mi otro yo
Tu fuiste mi otro yo
We use to say that we met too young
We were too foolish to know
What love was, that’d we’d fight about the same thing over and over again
Cyclically
We needed to be young, I needed to have my own life, and you needed to have yours
I had my stages, and phases, and you had yours,
Tried to meet you half way, on that unstable bridge
I was early, and you were a little too late
Barely crossed paths, just to go back to the same
It was too soon for me to fall in love, you just dove right in.
Backed up, turned on the left and ran away
Somehow I woke up in your arms one day, you promised it’d be ok.
I was ready to be completely in love, but now it was you who always kept one foot out the door.
We became the negative and print of a photograph that just never fit.
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