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I wish that loving had rules

You may have heard countless quotes about love from somewhere else, lessons from different people, experiences shared by friends or family, or ideas from the romance themes we watch and read. And even after all that, we still don’t have a single, clear idea of what love really is. All of it is just subjective interpretation — which, you might say, is what makes it special. Every love out there is unique. There is no singular way of loving someone.

But what if you still don't know what love is, even after listening, reading, and watching all those love-lorn stories? What if love feels unreachable? What if romance is really just for fun? What if it’s all man-made — not intrinsic, not innate, but a desperate attempt to feel pleasure from giving and receiving something from someone we find interesting?

You can argue that what I just said is literally what love is per se. To share. To give without expecting something back. To feel the dopamine rush that happens when we feel some sort of fast heartbeat and blood rush when we interact with another human being that we find extremely interesting.

Perhaps that person is different from you. Perhaps you are both similar. Perhaps you’re not compatible at all. What happens then?

I was an avid fan of romance. When it comes to books, movies, or songs, I always knew just the right ones to choose. Most of them showed what love is — or, at least, what it could be. These stories helped me create my own idea of love, and to me, it felt perfect. Because of that, I became a hopeless romantic. I always aimed for consistency, the way love should flow like how it first poured itself out to show its wonders. If it wasn’t consistent, then it felt like a lie.

We all have our own ideas of what love is, and we can’t force those ideas onto other people. And perhaps that’s the part that scares me. What if the person I love doesn’t believe in consistency? What if they only love on the days they feel like it, and push me away on others? Would that still be love?

Sometimes, I wish that love had rules. Not for it to become something robotic or to be a certain obligation, not to drain it of spontaneity, but to give it clarity. To at least have something to hold on to when it feels like everything is slipping. If love had rules, maybe it wouldn’t hurt so unpredictably. Maybe it would be easier to understand someone’s intentions, or easier to explain why things fall apart. Rules for love would possibly make it less magical than we thought it was — but honestly, maybe that would make it better. Maybe then it would be less terrifying.