#my best friend said people'd read it if i did it

[unsupervisedsoup]

worked on this one for a bit, and i'm sure not many people will see this but hey, at least my work's out there

Title; Born from the need to be held

Love is a profound and genuine, one-sided or mutual emotion that the modernised society has destroyed and infatuated over until its complete extinction. Love within fiction, and by extension the unconscious and human desire, that misleads the gaze to wanting to believe its gainable simplicity. It is replaced by the over-fixation from loneliness as an ideal to be reached by everyone, serving only to drive love father away. Only adding to the detachment between connections. And yet from the very birth of a person, warmth and love from their guardian are needed, even for the scientific definition of not being able to individually regulate their own temperature. However, this need to be held is not condensed to this singular rationale. It could have been much later, in the sudden absence of this human contact that slowly ceases to alienation with the extending time of existence. In seeking it out again is to return to the state of being born with the need to be held.

From it are the misinterpretations that the slightest inkling to interest is nothing but romance. This leads to the oversimplification and consequential surface level of understanding. It leaves little room to explore any other definition of it despite the eight categories of love written by the Greeks. All of which are arranged the farthest in favour of Eros. As it appeals to the longing gaze with its sporadic though doting temperament of physical desire, with its almost immediate gratification. Though it does not fail to accentuate its' sweet then bitter' fleeting moments as described in Anne Carson's essay: "To be running breathlessly, but not yet arrived." A suspension to chase well after its end, stumbling and desperate for another high like an unsatiated hunger enough to drive one mad. Accentuated by Sappho's 31, highlighting the irrationality justified by a false sense of rationale. Its captivating yet fleeting beauty causes the huge sway of emotion like a madly oscillating pendulum that is unable to settle. Further proving the existence of poems and words surrounding the romantic aspect of love to barely suffice, never completely satiating the aggravated need for a semblance of this mutuality between another. 

The same can be said with the romanticisation of young love's naïve clarity. Eros, likely from where the most common iteration of a romantic relationship—the language of physical affection—was publicly yet quietly conceived. This idealised state of affection lessens the sincerity, now perceived and narrowed to the claimable title, as if it is some form of collectible item or class not many come by. While the want for the real connection leads to shallow and assumptious relationships from ambiguous interactions. Generalised to the state of infatuation first felt when meeting a stranger, who's unfinished sentences may leave the need to fill it ceaselessly with words before they've ever spoken. This is set by the modernised and prevalent double standard seen in gender and consequently sexuality. A reaction to prove against the out-dated conservative beliefs, only managing to create another level of extremism: promiscuity. Its celebration glamorised in media, synthetically framed in a sought-after manner. Consequently, resulting to the infantilism and generalisation of complexities to aesthetics. A form of "mental" fashion to casually wear around. Articles of clothing that can be switched out for the newest and shiniest belief. Societal refusal to the open expression of vulnerability without having it hidden within the packaging of media, leads to exclusion and further driven to categorisation. Even at the lack of love's wanted warmth, the disappearance of authenticity remains. Due to the societal beliefs that it can be easily harnessed as an object that man has come to understand; to define despite its fluidity. A dance between the constant isolation experienced in the uniqueness of oneself, along with the desperation to find another with this impossible similarity causing the settling with a synthetic personality.

Love's categorisation causes its loss of meaning, ultimately leading to its death. The gaze of people tears it at the seams, pulling it apart for a piece to keep for themselves. No longer adding to the beautiful intricacy of human relationships and instead providing a shortcut to satisfying the quick needs in an effort to prolong the soft hold of a hand. The infatuation for it extends beyond the words uttered by actors and poets alike, stemming from within the society itself. This yearning leads to a cycle of subversion toward any other form of fondness. It is the idea of love that covers the eyes and whispers; it dares to let longing fill the spaces to indulge within dreams. It is easy to entangle in, though difficult to look away from its captivation, offering warmth and understanding despite how quickly love can disappear. It allows settling without recognising the misunderstanding that love comes in obvious forms to ease the loneliness and convoluted nature of people. Despite its destructive nature, it is seen as a better alternative to loneliness. Which is comparable to the slipping of shadows in the presence of light. The fear of isolation lingers uncomfortably by the doorway; the gaze's peripheral never truly acknowledges that corner. 

At times, it is closer to this fairy tale, curated by the ideals and hopes of others; unattainable in the sense that it avoids those who look for it at every turn. Due to the apparent display of love, it undermines complexity and instead relies on idealisation. Piecing together a perfect fabrication of love influenced by the Eros of society to wrap around and act as a substitute for what cannot be so easily gained as fast as it is thought of. This fragility outside of the loosely sewn train of thoughts is divulged at the slightest difference in this preconceived notion of love. Simultaneously held back and prompted to pursue it out of fear, along with the wish to seek it out without hurting and not being hurt. It stands overhead in its ephemeral figure, enchanting enough to have nearly every gaze believe its insincerity. A simple wish to love in the dark in order to be completely vulnerable. Blind and alone without being truly alone. If anything, it is only a brief reprieve, a comfort, a latibule, for the impossibility of sincerity within modernity. It is done out of fear of displaying the acrimonious, disguising the unpleasant idea of it all with infatuation.