Chocolates and Flowers (or The Love of Love)

Love is a curious thing. You are taught from the day you are born that you love your family. You love your mother, your father, your sisters and brothers, your uncles and aunts, grandfathers and grandmothers. And for the most part, you get good little children who mimic what they are told and tell everyone that they love them.

But then there is the love of others, which is far stranger and a little less easy to talk about. Love is something that is hard to describe, but dictionary.com simplified it to "an intense feeling of deep affection"

As I travel the halls of my asylum (see: school), I hear the word love a lot. Thrown out casually for something that was just funny, or just nice, or just...average. And I personally have received a lot of flack for my one little issue:

I refuse to say 'I love you'. To anyone. Family included.

Why is this? I don't know quite honestly. And that is probably the reason I don't say it ever. I just don't know what love is. Sure it may feel good to hear someone declare their love for you, but in the end, it is the same as telling a fat women that she is skinny: At the end of the day, she is still a size 6 (or whatever is large for women. I honestly don't know.)

I think that love is a rare natural resource. And I plan to conserve mine, so I won't have to mine off the coast of Alaska for it. I don't say it to people, it isn't because I hate you: If I talk to you at all, it means that my disgust for you is slightly lesser than my disgust for others. I don't say it because when I do say it, I want it to mean something.

Thanks for reading and considering
-J.Valett

One could attribute the delay between posts as a deep consideration of the following topic. One would be wrong. I am lazy.