Come, rest with me next to the bonfire.

I haven’t written a journal in a long time. Only recently did I get the motivation to create a new entry. One of my friends reminded me of my older journals after commenting on how he used to read them. And, after deciding to give it another go, do I remember how that wasn’t the easiest thing to do. Coming up with an interesting topic to talk about isn’t exactly a breeze. Especially since there aren’t many things in my life that could be of someone’s interest or attention. At least in my opinion. However, there are a lot of things that do cross my mind that might be interesting to discuss or share with others. Although mature (by mature I don’t mean adult, rather complex and of deeper meaning to me), still something worth sharing and maybe catching someone’s attention with it. I know that FurAffinity isn’t exactly the best place to post such content since I feel the audience here isn’t interested in reading such stuff. Nor is the general feel of FurAffinity such that it can be a suitable place for journaling heavier topics. However, I’ve seen people post such content here, either to vent or to find one lost voyager seeking refuge in other people’s words, trying to escape the harsh reality they have to live in. If I find this documentation of my thoughts to be interesting or even a nice way of systematically putting down meaning and assigning value to my worldview, I might consider continuing these journals on other platforms. For now, though, I’m fine with FurAffinity.

Recently I’ve been experiencing similar feelings that I’ve had during my conversion. When I first discovered I wasn’t straight. Back then I used to romanticize how would perfect love be and I just couldn’t fit a woman in that picture. An image of a boy (no, not an underaged one) would always appear whenever I imagined myself in someone’s arms, enjoying the moment with them. The same is somewhat happening now. And that, in a way, fills me with a rather nostalgic and melancholic, yet peaceful feeling, almost similar to how a good song that is close to your heart feels whenever you hear it out of nowhere after a long time. That welcoming ache in your chest full of pride, almost as if that song speaks of who you are, puts me on a rollercoaster of emotions and thoughts all tied to previous media I consumed where I found the very thing I wish to have in my life too.

I already discussed the topic of a perfect love life with a friend of mine. While we stayed brief, I found that topic to be profound and that there is more to something than meets the eye. Albeit complex, I find it hard to manifest through words and, when I already do, they quickly dissipate. Almost as if that topic isn’t meant for us, moral beings, to capture and observe it in vitro. And while one might disagree with that statement, a careful reader might notice the purposeful use of the term “perfect” to describe this very heavy topic. One must understand the idealistic demeanor of that term and the consequences it has to the general context in which this topic shall be discussed. One must also be familiar that the ideal cannot be met with our expectations of reality, concluded after millennia of human trial and error to establish its foundation outside the prison we call our minds. Ergo, there isn’t much for us to discuss on the realization of this matter. However, it is of utmost importance to radicalize the means of our thought patterns towards only the perfect kind of love through a systematic and careful approach – whether that be by reading a good romance novel or spending hours inking a perfectly white piece of paper with disconnected, yet logically bound sentences.

What comes to mind when asked about perfect love is a reflection of one’s meaning of that phrase. I imagine a vast grassy hill at the very edge of a mountainside, touching the golden rays of the sun. The hill expands into a massive valley, rich in rivers and forests. There, on that hill, awaits me the one to whom I chose to offer my full self. The one who knows all my cracks and ridges. The one who knows all my brilliance. And the one who chooses to only deepen the well of my youth and might; the one for whom I’m willing to do the same. The only person who I’d look into their eyes and ponder about the depth of that sight that their eyes are laying on me. The only sight that would touch my soul, reaching from within to reach out and grab it. Finding peace and meaning in life once collided. I imagine us laughing, running around only to lie down and watch the sky roll over us. I find that, at that point, with them, even the most mundane activity feels rich in passion and purpose. And I simply would not get tired of it. I imagine us, two college boys, combating the world, discovering ourselves, and falling back, at the end of the day, onto our bed, arms around each other, reminding ourselves of why we are meant for each other. It would simply be pure. The image of a road trip through the countryside of Europe by car, a lonely village house far away from society's grasp, a quiet fishing trip, or a spot in tall grass with lovers, regardless of what kind and count, is what too comes to mind when I imagine “perfect love”. All are tinted with a shade of orange or purple making it seem as if I’m viewing it from an old photo or watching an old movie.
Not to confuse perfect love with true love. True love, in essence, is flawed. And its flaw is that it exists. Albeit rare, it’s a sight many want to behold. In the words of François de La Rochefoucauld: “True love is like a ghost, which everyone talks about and few have seen”. However, unlike its promising counterpart, true love devastates. It strikes twice: first, it steals your heart, then it returns it shattered, and you shall not find a replacement for your heartaches.

So what does that image say about my viewing of “perfect love”? I’m assuming it means breaking free from society. Experiencing the other end of living, free from norms and standards. I conclude that living in a harsh environment for young gay men I only want the best out of life by distancing myself from that environment. And I know nature doth harm nor judge its creation. That image provokes me and makes me wistful of the days when I daydreamt of such a thing. These times weren’t easy. I felt lost and evermore confused day by day. Yet, amongst all these confusions and tears shed, I found beauty in it. A sense of peace. Like that very struggle was a shade under the trees of my own. I belonged there and wouldn’t want anyone taking my spot. Not much that I don’t want others to experience the terrors of their self-doubt, but because being unique in those struggles kept me wanting to find a way out. And I have. And I’m thankful for that.