Life and Love

My partner Sim and I got engaged this weekend! It was our 4th anniversay and Sim took me away for a night in the Peak District, to a place called Alstonefield, a short walk from Milldale at the north of Dovedale that his parents like a lot. We went for a lovely walk in the hilltops and down to the rocky ravine and the river. We walked in bracing lustery gales, with brilliant blue skies and rainbows, with tiny rain clouds chasing across the sky. The hilltop fields were lush and green with bright white limestone drystone walls, and the beautiful autumnal colours (Sim's favourite time of the year) were everywhere, with yellow, orange and brown leaves and red berries. We sat together under a chestnut tree in a churchyard and drank champagne while the sun set. Then we went to the pub.

As I knew we were going to get engaged - we chose our engagement ring six weeks ago - I had time to write Sim a poem. It was inspired by this clip of Derrida from "Derrida: the movie," talking about the question of "love." Annoyingly, embedding is disabled, so you'll have to follow this link to it on Youtube.

"Is 'love' the love of someone or the love of some thing?"

Is "love" the love of someone or the love of some thing? Does one love someone, or does one love something about someone?

Supposing I loved someone... Do I love someone for the absolute singularity of who they are? Do I love you because you are you? Or do I love your qualities? Do I love your beauty? Do I love your intelligence?

It is often said that love is the movement of the heart. Does my heart move because I love someone who is an absolute singularity, or because I love the way that someone is?

The difference, between the who and the what at the heart of "love," separates the heart, separates the heart of the lover.

Often, love starts with some type of seduction. One is attracted because the other is like this or like that. And love is disappointed and dies when one comes to realize the other person isn't like this or that. So at the birth of love and at the death of love, it appears that one loves another not because of who they are, their singularity, but because they are or are not this or that.

The heart of love separates the heart of the lover. That is to say, the history of love, the heart of love, is divided between the who and the what. Whoever starts to love, is in love, or stops loving, is caught between this division of the who and the what.

So I - I who am in love, I who am caught by the heart, caught at the heart of love, I whose heart is caught by love - am caught at the heart of the question of love... of
whether "love" is the love of someone or the love of some thing.

The heart of love separates the heart of the lover.

I who am in love am broken hearted.

One wants to be true - to be true absolutely, utterly, unreservedly, unconditionally. And one wants to be true to someone - to someone in their singularity, in their uniqueness, their individuality, their irreplaceability. One wants to be true to someone. But is "love" the love of someone or the love of some thing?

This is a question for me. It is my question, the question by which I and my love are put into question. I have an empty head about love itself, about love in general, about the philosophy of love. I have no answer to those questions.

But my answer to the question of my love - my answer about my love and my answer to my love - must be given every day. Today, every day, for all my days, will I love some thing about someone? Or will I love someone? This someone. As he is. For who he is.

Yes, yes.