Is Love more than just a lofty ideal propagated by centuries of chivalrous troubadours and chemically-enlightened hippies? Is there something daring about taking the leap of faith necessary to, as Jorge Luis Borges put it, "create a religion with a fallible god"? Because that's really what you're doing when you fall in love, you know. Is it courageous, or is it done so there's something to hide behind?

Maybe it does imply weakness, but an inherent weakness of the human spirit that we cannot be faulted for. But there's a strength involved, also. Or maybe it's really a neutral aspect of our spirits whose significance we all either blow out of proportion or attempt to ignore. It doesn't seem, though, that it can be successfully squelched.

It's really too bad; it kinda puts the kibosh on the whole "independent woman" ideal. Independent person, even.

I'm not sure I want to think about it anymore.