Symbols. Quite a funny thing actually. They change one's life in such a dramatic way, despite of... no... no no no- precisely because of their partial detachment from reality.
You see, (and this is the most important part) a good symbol must be represented by a real object, a tangible, real object (and I use the word object here in its most general sense), an object that cannot be too familiar, nor completely shrouded in mystery.
It must be tangible enough for one to grow a liking towards it, whilst being mysterious enough that one can ignore its imperfections and decorate it with new phantasmagorical, extraordinary, completely imaginary meaning.
And this strange construction, which is seemingly built on stupidity and ignorance, is the most fundamental building block of society at large. It inspires us to build churches, wage wars, and sacrifice things within us that we never would've had for anything that's actually real.
What a marvellously stupid thing. How marvellous. And stupid. It's almost endearing.
And what is a better example of this in a man's life other than love, and its most beautiful, stupid symbol, the woman. I am, of course, not talking about wives or otherwise long term partners. No... they become too familiar... I am of the belief that familiarity is the biggest enemy of love. By saying this I'm not trying to undermine the importance or sanctity of a close, deep relationship. No, that holds its own value, but that is a discussion for another time.
What I'm talking about here is the woman as a symbol. The kind of woman you see from afar, that is familiar enough to grow a likeness towards, but mysterious enough for you to be able to ignore her imperfections, and add to her phantasmagorical, extraordinary, completely imaginary qualities. You see, this type of woman can become God in a man's life. This woman will motivate a man to do things he would never do, will even entirely change the type of person he is. He will do all this, you see, he will put so much effort into changing just in order to become the idealised version of himself that he deems worthy of impressing the idealised version of the woman he yearns for.
Until the moment he obtains this "love" he's been yearning for so hard, and notices, it was never real. None of it was real. And the illusion dissipates, but the changes brought within him never go away, and he comes out better for it. How beautiful. What a beautifully stupid thing. It's almost endearing.
Sorry if I went on a bit of a rant. I didn't mean to bore you too too much. I'll just go and pour myself another glass... no... no... I don't think she would like that of me too much...