of words, poetry and the big bad truth

i've been thinking about it for a long time, our tendency to not grab our problems by the horn, meet them out front, man to man, well, man to problem. instead we keep pushing them forward, hoping that someday somehow somewhere we will meet someone that will make all our problems magically disappear. we will find someone so beautiful, so fantastic, so perfect, that they will just vanish, wave goodbye and get on 31 to camden town, never to be seen again, lost among the market stalls and junkies. we want to believe that love does anything but tear us apart, we want it to be the cure for everything that's wrong and dark and difficult. in short, we think that someday our someone, our someone from the first glance, will show up in shining armour and take us far, far away where it's all sunshine and cupcakes and butterflies. there is a band and their lyrics describe that hopeful feeling very well, better than anyone i've met and certainly better than me. they sing songs of people prepared to die for each other, of "the others" unimportance, that the mockery is a price worth paying, because we're moving and they are still, they sing of holes in kevlarsouls that will never stop bleeding, of teenage dreams, of stolen glances and the most beautiful things in life. it's really pretty words but, in the words of conor oberst, life's no storybook. no matter how much we hold on to that longing, the longing to the bliss waiting at the end of the line, as sure as stratford at the end of the jubilee line, our someone somewhere somehow someday. though it's pretty, and optimism in all its forms really should be celebrated even if you are as realistic as i am, it's just that. it's pretty. it's poetic, yes. the thing is that it's a big fat lie. which is fine, it's art, it doesn't have to be true, in fact it's better if its not. the truth that will swallow our little fantasy world where love is the answer to everything like the big bad wolf swallows little red riding hood is that the problems are not going to be solved. i shouldn't be talking, i know, i'm still hoping for someone somewhere to be THE one. do i dream of falling in love? sometimes, yes. do i like to think it will dissolve all my self loathing, my disgust for my own being? yes, i like to think that. but i am not that naive, there are things that no one will ever help me get over, things i will keep carrying around, dropping pieces here and there in some bizarre treasure hunt. but really, fuck it.