Maturing… what does it mean to mature in love?

Love for whom? For our loved ones, our friends, for ourselves. And then for her… or him.

For me, it’s “her.” For you, it can be whoever you want.

I don’t know if it’s immaturity, Peter Pan syndrome, or that chūnibyō but I still believe in love.

An illusion?

“Love is just marketing to sell you more books, movies, and jewelry.”

Fair. I get that, partly.

But if we’re going to fool ourselves, why not choose an illusion that makes us feel good?

Some people, in the little treat economy, buy a Dior lipstick or the latest Labubu.

I, instead, choose to strengthen the idea of love.

Maybe in both cases we hurt ourselves a little: on one hand, you watch your savings vanish; on the other, you risk idealizing a bond that can exist that doesn’t start out perfectly between two strangers just because they’re attracted to each other.

I’m terrible at dating I’ve realized that.

First: apps aren’t my thing you judge a person by two photos and two lines.

Second: online chitchat feels devoid of reality and emotion.

Instant messaging has stolen space from our personal time and, at the same time, to understand each other you need channels writing doesn’t have: looks, pauses, breaths.

And I’m not even talking about flirting I’m talking about the foundation: a healthy friendship to build.

When I see couples out and about, I smile.

Not because they “look good together,” or because they’re holding hands.

I smile because I imagine they’re sharing emotions.

Maybe that’s an illusion too.