Taylor Hamilton
It appears that we have come to the end of the age of the romantics and have now entered the lover girl, boy and person era—and I could vomit just thinking about it.
I fear we have lost our way in the name of “love.”
I don’t mind the romantics. They’re poetic, direct, attentive and deeply sentimental. But the lover girls and boys? They are getting out of control. And it’s not that I’m a hater—I can just see through these self-proclaimed love enthusiasts.
I pity the lover girls and boys.
They are infatuated with the idea and reality of romantic love. They eat, sleep and breathe it as if it were a mission ordained to them by God. Because of this, they idealize everyone entering their lives, placing them on a pedestal only to be crushed by the myth they created of their crushes.
Their identities morph into that of their partner. They lose sight of their own goals and dreams. Their rose-tinted glasses paint red flags pink, leading them to fall victim to their own foolishness.
Lover people are broken. They carry heavy, empty hearts. They lack love within, so they search for it in others just to learn that the one they’ve been looking for was themselves all along. Yet they continue to ignore this truth, carrying on with their sadistic journey.
But this generation is not the space for lover people anyway. They will drive themselves into insanity because love has turned into a game. Instead of vulnerability and empathy, we have nonchalance and manipulation.
This is a minefield for the lovers—a deathtrap for the heart and one hell of a job for Cupid.
We may never return to real love, but whether we do or not, I don’t really care. What I and the romantics desire is so grandiose that no mortal could ever satisfy our inclination. It’s too sublime, too transcendental. And for this, we turn to our faiths.
You can never go wrong with turning to the divine.
To identify as a lover girl, or boy is to acknowledge that you lack love. To identify as a romantic is to acknowledge that love flows through you like an endless river, and no one’s presence or absence can change that.
This is my advice to all lover people: All of the love you give to undeserving people out of desperation should be given to yourself. And if, for whatever reason, you deem unworthy, go to whatever you believe in and ask that your love be channeled into something practical, something worth your while.
Because when you reek of desperation, you catch trash in the sea instead of the fish you long for.
Amyri Jones is a 23-year-old digital advertising and religious studies senior from Baton Rouge, La.