Linear Lines

Recently, I was struck by the way in which love grows and fades. It seems to me not to be a gradual process, but rather happens in bursts of sudden movement and typically only when no one is looking. You'll be minding your own business, living your life, and the next thing you know, BAM, you've either fallen in love or fallen out of love with someone and the process is over practically before it began.

I've also noticed, and been troubled, by the way in which we make space for people in our lives at the expense of others. It is as if we have a finite amount of emotional energy (probably true) or a finite amount of time (certainly true) and we make subconscious decision about who we spend it with and, sometimes more importantly, who we spend it thinking about. 

I've realized that to say that you have fallen out of love with someone is not an entirely accurate phrasing. Instead, what I think happens, is you just make less time in your life for that person. It doesn't have to happen at once, just a little bit everyday. And within the moments that you think about that person, you still love them and care for them as much as you ever did. 

But the time for caring grows shorter, more fragmented, more periodic. Love becomes a disenfranchised and isolated thing, still strong, but disconnected from the roots of your life. Love, like a low-lying stretch of land encroached by rising sea levels, turns into islands, which break into smaller islands, which eventually disappear entirely. The love is still there, but you have to look for it beneath the surface of the dirty, shallow water.

Here's a picture of the book I'm currently reading. Believe it or not, this is the best pic I could find on the internet. Maybe I'll take a picture of my book, but its from the library and is lacking a cover: