I’ve found almost everything ever written about love to be true. Shakespeare said “Journeys end in lovers meeting.” Oh, what an extraordinary thought. Personally, I have not experienced anything remotely close to that, but I am more than willing to believe Shakespeare had. I suppose I think about love more than anyone really should. I am constantly amazed by its sheer power to alter and define our lives. It was Shakespeare who also said “love is blind”. Now that is something I know to be true. … For some, quite inexplicably, love fades. For others, love is simply lost. But then of course love can also be found, even if just for the night. And then, there’s another kind of love: the cruelest kind. The one that almost kills its victims. It’s called unrequited love. Of that I am an expert. Most love stories are about people who fall in love with each other. But what about the rest of us? What about our stories, those of us who fall in love alone? We are the victims of the one sided affair. We are the cursed of the loved ones. We are the unloved ones, the walking wounded. The handicapped without the advantage of a great parking space. Yes, you are looking at one such individual. And I have willingly loved that man for over three miserable years. The absolute worst years of my life. The worst Christmas’s, the worst Birthday’s, New Years Eve’s brought in by tears and valium. These years that I have been in love have been the darkest days of my life. All because I’ve been cursed by being in love with a man who does not and will not love me back. Oh god, just the sight of him. Heart pounding. Throat thickening. Absolutely can’t swallow. All the usual symptoms. I understand feeling as small and as insignificant as humanly possible. And how it can actually ache in places you didn’t know you had inside you. And it doesn’t matter how many new haircuts you get, or gyms you join, or how many glasses of chardonnay you drink with your girlfriends… you still go to bed every night going over every detail and wonder what you did wrong or how you could have misunderstood. And how in the hell for that brief moment you could think that you were that happy. And sometimes you can even convince yourself that he’ll see the light and show up at your door. And after all that, however long all that may be, you’ll go somewhere new. And you’ll meet people who make you feel worthwhile again. And little pieces of your soul will finally come back. And all that fuzzy stuff, those years of your life that you wasted, that will eventually begin to fade.
Kate Winslet Monologues
I don’t need everything we have here, I don’t care where we live. I mean, who made these rules anyway? The only reason we moved out here was because I got pregnant. Then we had another to prove the first one wasn’t a mistake, I mean, how long does it go on? Frank, do you actually want another child? Well do you? Come on. Tell me. Tell me the truth, Frank. Remember that? We used to live by it. And you know what’s so good about the truth? Everyone knows what it is no matter how long they’ve lived without it. No one forgets the truth, Frank, they just get better at lying. So tell me. Do you really want another child?
How should I your true love know
From another one?
By his cockle bat and’ staff
And his sandal shoon.
Say you? Nay, pray You mark.
He is dead and gone, lady,
He is dead and gone;
At his head a grass-green turf,
At his heels a stone.
Pray you mark.
White his shroud as the mountain snow-
Larded all with sweet flowers;
Which bewept to the grave did not go
With true-love showers.
Well, God dild you! They say the owl was a baker’s daughter.
Lord, we know what we are, but know not what we may be.
God be at your table!
Pray let’s have no words of this;
but when they ask, you what it means, say you this:
To-morrow is Saint Valentine’s day,
All in the morning bedtime,
And I a maid at your window,
To be your Valentine.
Then up he rose and donn’d his clo’es
And dupp’d the chamber door,
Let in the maid, that out a maid
Never departed more.
Indeed, la, without an oath, I’ll make an end on’t!
By Gis and by Saint Charity,
Alack, and fie for shame!
Young men will do’t if they come to’t
By Cock, they are to blame.
Quoth she, ‘Before you tumbled me,
You promis’d me to wed.’
‘So would I ‘a’ done, by yonder sun,
An thou hadst not come to my bed.’
I hope all will be well. We must be patient;
but I cannot choose but weep to think they would lay him i’ th’ cold ground.
My brother shall know of it; and so I thank you for your good counsel.
Come, my coach! Good night, ladies. Good night, sweet ladies.
Good night, good night.