I'm a poor judge of love. I should clarify, poor observer of love. Maybe it's the over-saturation of romantic comedies or television triangles and quadrangles preventing me from identifying genuine love out of the desires and passions of men.
I finished The End of the Affair by Graham Greene yesterday and I'm struggling to come to a conclusion about my regard for the three main characters. I'm not sure why it's important to know if the love Sarah had for Bendrix was real, but it feels important. Is it more than desire, more than the thrill? Can love be true if it makes you more miserable than happy?
My guess? The love that brings more sorrow than joy can be real, but it can't be sustained.
"What are we doing to each other?" Sarah writes in her journal. "Because I know that I am doing to him exactly what he is doing to me. We are sometimes so happy, and never in our lives have we known more unhappiness. It's as if we were working together on the same statue, cutting it out of each other's misery. But I don't even know the design."
My three year wedding anniversary is in exactly two weeks and I can't help but want to have my marriage fashioned after Eric and Tami Taylor from Friday Night Lights. I know teamwork, genuine admiration, and the mutual support of love is less sexy than overwrought declarations, escapades, and fisticuffs but the former feels more real. And the love that I have for my husband makes me want it to last.
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