Types of Love
Eros—a passionate physical and emotional love based on aesthetic enjoyment; stereotype of romantic love
Ludus— a love that is played as a game or sport; conquest; may have multiple partners at once
Storge—an affectionate love that slowly develops from friendship, based on similarity
Pragma —love that is driven by the head, not the heart
Mania— obsessive love; experience great emotional highs and lows; very possessive and often jealous lovers
Agape— selfless altruistic love; spiritual;
(Source: Wikipedia, via wild-onesssss)
Can’t Let You Go
“Even when I detach, I care. You can be separate from a thing and still care about it. If I wanted to detach completely, I would move my body away. I would stop the conversation midsentence. I would leave the bed.
Instead, I hover over it for a second. I glance off in another direction. But I always glance back at you.”
—The Lover’s Dictionary, David Levithan
Rapunzel
“Do you think you could spend the night?” she asked.
My answer was swift, firm, resolute. “No. You know I can’t do that.”
“Oh.” Her voice betrayed no hint of sadness and was, rather, a mirror of mine. Swift, firm, resolute. She was learning quite well. “I just hoped we could talk. You know I’m going back to school next week.”
I had been looking forward to a quiet night at home, away from the burdens that had suddenly come to fill all my days and nights. We stopped speaking then, an awkward pause over the phone, because it was clear that I would go to her, and spend her final hours back home, until there was nothing left to talk about.
When I arrived she was in the kitchen assembling a somen salad. She wore a snug orange tank top and a magnificent pair of jeans. Her long, luscious hair was the color of chocolate and caramel. I took a position on the opposite side of the wide marble island, a metaphorical wall between us.
She displayed little pretense in the things she wanted to unburden herself from, choosing instead to lower all of her inhibitions; those fears that had prevented her from showing her weaknesses or admitting her needs were now gone. We talked for hours about her desire to go back to school despite the longing to stay in Hawaii, the growing rift with her mother, and the confusion she felt about the boys she kept attracting. The ones who wanted her to go on weekend-long binges of booze and partying, who wanted her there when they needed her but would, otherwise, forget that she needed them sometimes, too. We spoke at length, also, about the absolute value of truth, despite all of its nebulous and situational ingredients.
I became her Obi-Wan then, counseling caution, patience, and virtue. She had by that time hoisted herself onto the marble between us, scaling the wall as it were, straddling the edge in more ways than one. I had been leaning forward unconsciously and became startled when I looked up to find her leaning forward, too, staring directly into my eyes. In the shielded luminescence her eyes were almost fiery.
After some time she shifted and lay prone along the counter, almost feline in the softness and surety of her movement.
“I just want to do the right thing,” she said. “I’m tired of living a life that’s filled with what-ifs and could-have-beens.”
I nodded. “Doing the right thing means never having to live in the past. It’s the surest way of living in the moment.”
She sat up then, her back to me, and rolled her shoulders forward. Instinctively, I reached across the marble and put my hands on her back, my fingers tangled in her long, straight, silken hair. I began to knead the muscles along her spine and she threw her head to the side. I could see part of her face now, her eyes closed. My hands reached down, under the lip of her tank top and touched the smooth skin on her hips. I heard her breathe in; she reached behind her neck and pulled her hair up into a ponytail. “I wish you would stay.”
“It wouldn’t be right.” I couldn’t see her face anymore, and I’m sure my voice had gone soft.
Her voice was soft too, but still resolute. “I still wish it.”
