but love, oh love, was romanticizing you an injustice? was it an injustice to idealize you, oh love, to romanticize what the greatest love story should ultimately be like, to romanticize what it is like to discover your one true love — were you dooming us, after all? were you condemning us to fawn over a bright green light on the distance, yet another doomed American Dream? why do we forget every Daisy is a weed? why do we forget that our weeds are our daisies, our daisies our weeds? what a crime it is, to make a person believe.

you’ve condemned a generation to look at a bright green light in the distance, such that when the object of our abject affections comes, we’d turn away, and instead look to the beacon of false hope. is it more enjoyable to yearn than to have? perhaps the objects of our longings are all bubbles. to grasp it, to have it in one’s hand, is for it to pop. it is enjoyed only by observation — to have it is for its iridescence to vanish, made naught for your desire to possess. go ahead: pop the bubble. pick the flower. watch it wilt. is this how you’ve condemned us to love? are we all Gatsby? 

if you love a daisy, you’ll be displeased to learn it’s, in fact, a weed. if you love a weed, you could be pleased to learn it’s, in fact, a daisy.

expectation: the enemy of love. idealization: the antithesis of love.