Commonly men avoid the books about love only. Most of them call it the literature of women. But love is universal. You can`t avoid it hiding with judgement of society. Society is blind as a whole but wise if divided into the all particular cells.
Everything began with grass.
I remember me sitting on the ground in the park and talking with a very smart guy. He was about 23 or something and we had much fun having discussed everything around us. I didn`t think much. I was swimming along the talk. I tend to describing. I could easily tell you how humid grass made my skirt stick to the skin and how warm my wine was becoming under the evening sun, but I will make it shorter not to cram your heads with physics details.
Grass predicates greenness. It was greenness of his feelings. My one came later.
I am a woman. This sentence can have millions meanings. If I say I am weak, it can mean only, I need a man to be near. I need one which shoulders I can rely on, which decisions I can accept and agree without knowing, which eyes can love me in the darkness.
Once I have heard that there are two types of women: bulbs and irons. Bulbs fall in love like a flash. They outbreak like a fire and die out like a bulb cause of excessive capacity. Irons are more reserved. It takes them longer to warm themselves. They tend to idealize the concept of love and start feeling it after years. And years they need to cool themselves if it happens. Of course, it`s not always true. There are much more than two types. There are millions, billions, infinite number. But all types are not a clothes for one particular woman. We all can be sometimes irons, sometimes bulbs, sometimes incredible variety of other stuff, it`s not we who choose.
I remember myself once in the bulb state. I turned blind. I shouted it wasn`t me those days, but nobody cared. Even those for whom the bulb was switched on.
The iron let me explore myself deeper and more confident. The iron let me improve not only myself but the person nearby, similar to the smoothness the iron brings to the shirt.
When the love comes? When you are sure he is one with whom you want to connect you for the whole life? Or when you want children from this person? How does it happen with others? Why is it she who can`t follow the stream and can`t not to put labels on every feeling she owns?
Why can`t she realize until she starts to loose?
What if animals of two different species fell in love with each other? What a drama that would be. A dog could never fully love a fish