True Love is a topic on which I have very strong opinions. Basically my theory of love is that love is a choice. Anything less than a choice is sub-human. If it's just chemistry or fate; if it's something I "fall" into; then my free will is not involved and I don't want it. If it can be "fallen" into; if it can be brought on by pheronomes or fate: then fate might call later for a split or pheramones might dissipate.
I can't believe I'm doing this again but here are some of my poems. These deal with True Love.
The first is addressed to my daughters:
Be careful what you name love:
It is not so cheap as musk or fate;
It is not so easy as a fall.
Hear the wisdom of age;
Hear your father's voice!
Love is a promise.
Love is a choice.
|The second is just a basic statement of my stubborn proposition:|
At first sight, never!
|This one plays with the idea that I could have made a different choice. It ends with the affirmation that I am very happy with the choice I made.|
I suppose I could have loved Jane.
I long for your kiss and your touch
Even now in age I see sometimes
Temptations beckon, the world's untrue.
And finally I address the objection voiced by one person that my theory of love is cold. I took great exception to that objection since I have always felt my true love very warm, even, in today's parlance, hot!
When I first read Erich Fromm's little book The Art of Loving, a real weight was lifted from my shoulders. I had dated lots of girls. I had kissed a good many of them and had found all of those experiences very enjoyable. (Admittedly one girl who smoked heavily had kisses less enjoyable.) Suddenly I was free to choose the one I would love. And if I could find someone willing to choose meas well, I could look forward to a wonderful loving relationship without the fear that I might have missed that one magical match that twentieth-century America had decided exists for everyone. I now knew that what separates infatuation from true love is commitment. No commitment, no love.
You think me daft, You say I'm cold and sad
I breathe, I feel, I bleed! -You are wrong.
Her beauty drew me; her wit entranced;
You are right, true love must know fire