The sad tragedy of what we call Love in the Zeitgeist

What was once beautiful, but what we now call love, has become misguided, corrupted, and what one could call Satanic, and divisive. What we call love, what we subconsciously and consciously substitute for the genuine authentic love, is cruel, and quick to resent. It festers in envy, flaunts itself, and swells with pride. It shames others, demands its own way, erupts in anger, and clings bitterly to every wrong. It delights in harm, and mocks the truth, mistrusts, despairs, and gives up easily.

Sadly, in the the spirit of this age, what is called love always fails. Love has become sex, its cheap substitute; love has become financial scheming; love has become a weapon and wicked game—it is the slow drowning in someone else’s darkness without asking for light. Strangers can fuck and vanish, untouched in soul, and love goes away when the house is burning. It is lack of sacrifice done in silence, impatience that curdles into cursing, the choosing of self and selfishness even when your own ribs splinter from the weight of compassion. What we call love never listens through the hum of rage, never forgives with teeth ground down to dust. It goes when the bed is cold, when the voice is sharp, when the door is half open. Love what it has become is twisted and is not gentle—it is a feral thing, clawing its way through grief and memory. It is lack of devotion with no applause, a ritual bleeding beneath smiles. This cheap version of love is the ghost that rocks you to sleep, even after you’ve buried it. It does not promise warmth—it offers a mirror. A betrayal carved in absence. A slow exorcism. A brutal curse. A slow soul crushing death.

What we call love, what we have made it to be, what it has become, is disappointing, tragic, heartbreaking, devastating, depressing and disgusting.