LNR is something I've done forever, and since I'm me, I have a name for it and I group it all together. Basically these are the revelations (or rants, sometimes) that I have late at night when my mind goes off and does its own thing. Some of them probably end up somewhere totally different than where they started. Mostly they're just thinkpieces, realizations of the way life works.
They have dates and times because I like to keep track of such. If you're interested, or simply confused, just be aware that I write dates year/month/day.
Love isn't always crazy. It's not always blind and passionate and reckless. Love starts out at the top of a waterfall and crashes you down, breathless to the bottom; without a moment to look around or take things in, it sweeps you off fast, twirling, tossing, disorienting you. You bounce against rocks and trees, and so many things beneath the surface of the murky water. Then the river opens wide and clear. This is the best part of love, the part where you can relax and take it all in. This is the part where you can nearly forget about it because it simply it part of you, flowing around you like it belongs there, because it does. There's still the occasional rapid, the rolling water than makes your head spin, but then you drift back, back to where everything is perfect. Where everything feels just right, because it is.
Trust and hope are the same thing. Trusting someone or something isn't a guarantee. It's a hope, it's a feverent wish that they truly are the person you see and they will do what it is they've said. Trust is how we hide that from ourselves. We don't want it to be a hope, so we tell ourselves we know. You don't really know, though. You hope. And each time that person does what you trusted them to do, you can tell yourself you were right. You did know. Or maybe that hope, that wish, by some brilliant chance actually came true.
Love isn't constant. Well, if it is, it's doomed. That's the problem, maybe. People change. Sometimes they change so fast they don't recognize themselves. Or sometimes they don't change. Sometimes they live in their bubble of pretended reality and when it pops, all of the sudden they realize they're someone else. And when you love that person, what are you supposed to do? If that wasn't really them, if you were seeing the warped rainbow of the outer side of their bubble, isn't that what you loved? Do you have to fall in love all over again, because now there's this new person? But are they entirely new? It's like the ship where, over the course of years, has each board replaced one by one. The end result looks the same, for the most part, the shape, the motions, but isn't it a brand new ship?