People want all the wrong kind of love.
They want a Gatsby and Daisy love connection, but don’t realize the synthetic infatuation of the nefarious spell.
They want a Romeo and Juliet whirlwind, but forget they haphazardly and half insanely lead each other to their demises.
They want a Bella and Edward undying commitment, but don’t see the crippling dependency of an unrealistic relationship.
People want to romanticize the unromantic, want to glorify the obsession. They want to believe in a green light or an eternal love, they don’t want mortal. They don’t want normal.
But they don’t understand, they can’t see, what’s special in the unspecial.
Love is the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs. Love is the way he opens the door with a goofy smile and raised eyebrows. Love is the way he bought you the wrong flowers on Valentine ’s Day. Love is the way he breathes in your exhale, just to make sure you’re alive. Love is the way he doesn’t have to be extraordinary to be perfect.
In a way, love is all the ways life is ordinary.
Because people want the wrong kind of love. They want to believe in fiction, and I fucking hate them for that. Because I believed in ordinary, I believed in you.
And we promised we would never be a sappy romance novel, and we never were. But somewhere along the line we started writing history. And now we are just words in some boring old textbook shoved in a dusty old library.
Because people want the wrong kind of love and I wanted everything we could never be.
“Mom, listen, I haven’t been together with Topanga for 22 years, but we have been together for 16. That’s a lot longer than most couples have been together. I mean, when we were born, you told me that we used to take walks in our strollers together around the block. When we were two, we were best friends. I mean, I knew everything about this girl. I knew her favorite color, her favorite food. Then we became six, Eric made fun of me because it wasn’t cool to have a best friend that was a girl or even know a girl. So for the next seven years I threw dirt at her. I like to call those “the lost years”. Then when I was thirteen, mom, she put me up against my locker and she kissed me. I mean, she gave me my first kiss. She taught me how to dance. She always was talking about these crazy things and I never understood a word she said. All I understood was that she was the girl I sat up every night thinking about, and when I’m with her, I feel happy to be alive. Like I can do anything. Even talking to you like this. So that’s, that’s what I think is love, mom. When I’m better because she’s here.” - Cory Matthews, Boy Meets World