Bakotopia

            We all like to pretend we know Love.  We all like to tell ourselves that, once we encounter whatever fantastical notion of 'Love' we have constructed while delusional or high, it will be undeniable and we will walk smiling with it forever until the credits roll.  We also like to pretend that once we have found that love, we will coax our lover into our arms through suave and enticing bravura.  And maybe that is a reality for some people but I, however, have never witnessed such an unfolding occur; at least not in any classifiable sense of 'suave'.  You stumble about through a variation of relationships mistaking love for Love.  Then you finally realize: Love is hard.  It is just as thrilling and fun. I have always enjoyed the venture of trying to create moments that I can look back on and place some Barry White music over.  Still though, it is challenging, especially when it comes to being creative with the person of your affection while trying to avoid looking like a moron.  In the end you realize that no matter how hard you try, you are no George Clooney.

            I have known Love but it has never been my friend, at least not a very hospitable friend.  Rather, it has been more of the friend who likes to inflate you with all sorts of confidence only to step just out of center-scene, waiting for you to trip over the stage wiring it placed in your way.  Love knew it was there all along too, don't pretend it didn't.  Still, we propel ourselves time and time again into its suffocating influence and never truly quit believing that the images we create in mind can manifest in reality.  There is a constant struggle once you realize that you are in Love that almost makes you want to laugh and vomit at the same time.  Then again, who has fallen victim to this curious affair and not rolled through it like an awkward Rollerama 'couples-only' session?  Unfortunately, behind the awkward grazing of your novia's (or novio's) hand, it becomes clear that there is a lot more to learn than can be picked up from a Lifetime movie marathon or Maxim column (apparently there is a lot more to it than bathing in Axe body spray). 

            The faltered attempts at being creative and romantic constantly reveal to you just how bad you are at the whole game.  What starts off as a modest attempt at creativity and token of affection - like a lunch by the river side - never fails to end in far short of what you had intended to make of it - like in bug bites and a peculiar fear of bats.  And no matter how many times you try to explain just how you feel, there is always one piece in your tangled mess of words that becomes the choice selection for the other's analysis.  What you had intended as complete and utter flattery will be taken as veiled suggestion of your insincerity or criticism of the one whom you do nothing but adore.

            It is a dangerous endeavor to try and be romantic.  No matter how many times you try to create the perfect ambiance to unleash your repertoire of sopping romantic tendencies, there will always happen something that ruins it.  What you get in romance films is a million scattered attempts at idealistic courtships collaborated into one story which polishes the ending over to appease audiences.  What you get in reality are moments of romantic triumph that are few and far between.  They always show the moment where a man stands before his Love and honesty spills from his mouth in the form of "The way the moonlight draped over your face through the cracks in the blinds made me believe in angels."  They never show the intent becoming obscured and turned into a form of "He doesn't apparently care about me that much."  And those smooth words that the visage of your Love evokes always seem to stumble out of your mouth rather than flow.  In those rare instances where the execution is flawless and the electricity in the air is damn near visible, it feels good to revel in it.  Ultimately though, it is in the moments of awkward expression that the most honest Love will flourish.