Who do you love?

Or maybe, for some of us, it's more of: What do you love?

Maybe you're Carrie, in love with John. Maybe you're Giada, in love with chocolate. Maybe you're Barbra, in love with the color white. Maybe you're David, in love with a corpse. Maybe, even, you're The High Above, in love with everyone.

Usually, the question following is "Why do you love?" I prefer asking this question, instead: "Why shouldn't you love?" Now that's a brain-scratcher.

He doesn't love you. He continually forgets and abandons you. He gives you a moment's happiness, for a moment's heartbreak too. It isn't very good for the waistline, blood-sugar-count-whatever or in the long run, your complexion. It isn't a very good color on your skin-tone; everyone knows you're masquerading elegance; Oprah doesn't like you for it. She looks like a corpse. More often than not, they don't love you back.


It's easier to make a list on why you shouldn't love someone. That list is also bound to get longer than the "why's". It's easier to nit-pick on faults, to stress over a tiny speck of black, than to see the (possibly) glaring pristine canvas. And we shouldn't ever wish for the opposite to happen. It won't, anyway. It's ultimately better to love in spite; to love "although"; to love "beyond".

After all, at the end of it all, when you're asked Why you love someone, there's only one answer that can capture the poeticism, the wonder, the grandness, the simplicity, the mystery, the purity, the absolute-brain-messing-fever of it all. And no matter what you do, there is almost no way to otherwise capture light and trap it in a bottle.

Why do you love someone?

Because.