i’d write you love letters and taint them in my kisses.

why does doing that for someone scare you? on Genz and the horrors of modern dating.

we often reminisce on how beautiful love used to be: how poets crafted ballads for their lovers (the good morrow will forever remain my favorite poem), how men at war wrote letters to their spouses even deep in the trenches, how lovers stole one last kiss before the train pulled away, the lyrics of a serenade reaching your ears and your heart, the fresh flowers on the counter after a stressful day.

these are the things we think of when we gaze at how love used to be. but now it feels as though something has dimmed—like a light has been cut off. love is rarer and usually done behind close doors. the pain, however, the frustration, the hurt, is much more grander than any heartfelt declaration. the longing to be seen has become so insatiable, yet when it does arrive we shove it away because we know it might leave a bitter taste in our mouths.

i’ve been noticing a trend of watering down relationships, of shrinking it into something indistinguishable; the talking-stage, situationship, sneaky-link, main, side, three month rule, triangle method, etc. terms used to soften the truth that we’re just scared.

we’re finding reasons to halt the feeling low in our bellies, the way our pupils dilate in their presence, the way our bodies vibrate with their touch, even though it might just be instantaneous, even though it never works out. we’ve come to construct an invisible wall around ourselves and we’re terrified to give ourselves to someone.

this result is observed due to a number of reasons. especially in heterosexual relationships, we’ve often reduce genders to stereotypes in regards to past experiences or societal outlook. it’s either “men are…” or “women are…” and nothing in between. connections then becomes a battle field of assumptions, trying not to reach too far, to tether too close, for the other might slip up and fall into that category you’ve already made them up to be.

also comes the raise of the feminist movement, especially among Nigerian young women. marriage isn’t the prize anymore and so are men. thus, women are starting to deconstruct that need and desire for them based on what society has oftentimes told them to want. women aren’t settling for the bare minimum, they’re not willing to endure what they saw their mothers suffer.

this development does not really sit right with a lot of men, given the gendered benefits they get from adhering to the patriarchy. they do not want to make commitments, or show up, but rather breadcrumb, get what they want and leave.

this has happened too many a time to count and so, both parties are standing at the edge of a rocky cliff, a bridge in the center, but no one wants to cross. it’s better to fall than to get hurt by love. and honestly, it makes sense to want to be careful, to guard your heart. heartbreak isn’t sunshine and roses, it’s dealing with the grief of letting someone see you, all of you, and then they leave with it.

but with that, little by little, we die. the world loses its breath.

and i don’t say that just to be awfully poetic, i mean it. since the beginning of time, love as always been a recurrent motif in regards to human relations, be it old sculptures, art, stories, and even shaping history itself. if such is the case then we’re surely not built for this half-ass, skimmed down version of it, we want to feel love, we crave it everyday, but when it comes the borders are instantly up, the lines ultimately dawn. it is when one proves themselves, when the trails are too much to bear, we let our hearts sink and the desire slip from our fingers. it no longer feels like a possibility but some sort of myth that only exits in the movies and the books and the arts.

but to love is human; be it romantic or not and to lose it is to lose ourselves.

we’ve come to see love as unworthy of being given or received, to dangerous to attempt, to scary to welcome for we believe we’re protecting our hearts, but loosing our light interaction by interaction.

love is dying and we lack the courage to keep it alive.

my friend told me she’s in love with someone but would never date him. “why?” i’d asked. “because i don’t want to get hurt,” she replied. “you know the way men can be.” i did, i’ve been open to such wounds, but i’d thought to myself that if she really did love this person in which her thoughts are consumed by them and she constantly looks for ways to bring smiles on their face and could talk to them on the phone for hours, how can you possibly be afraid to take it further? how can you not have the guts to finally put a seal on everything you do together and possibly transform it into something more? i found that very, very odd.

for if i were to love someone, i would do so apologetically; without hesitation, without hindrance. i will learn everything i can about them and write them vintage letters tainted with my red lipstick, i would make them their favorite meal and kiss them senselessly until my lips are sore. if they are to love me back, then possibly they would to the same. if after all they were to hurt me, i’ll shed some tears, wipe them off, get back up on my feet and give all my love again to someone new who deserves it. who would let go for me too.

and in all, that is truly what matters.