I've been dreaming ...

of a true loves kiss, and a prince I'm hoping comes with this...
I don't get it. The cult of true love has been present for centuries. Romeo and Juliet. Tristan and Isolde. Lancelont and Guinevere. Hector and Andromache. Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy. Bella and Edward. And many, many more, we don't know about.... If we put them together like this, I get the feeling that true love is not as rare as it seems. Ok, there were ages between all these loves, and, yes most of them were invented. But I can't convince myself in not believing that true love exists. We all hope there is someone just and only for us. The perfect one. Our other half. ETC.
It's strange, but it seems that all our lives circle mostly around finding that special someone. Every person that crosses our path could be him or her. Every eye contact, every glance, every smile and every world could be THE one missing piece that would tell us if that's it. We are designed for this. I was made for loving you baby, you were made for loving me. Every one of us. All in different ways, but we are. Men, for example react unconciously at a certain type of body, while women want to scan the mind. It's not rocket science. We all know that. My point is, that the prepositions to find that someone are in us, if we want it or not. So, everybody needs somebody.
Find me somebody to love...
This life is soo depressing. 95% of all songs are love songs, or songs concerning love. The media is full of it. There's roamnce in (olmost)every film. Pefrection in every lover's face and that's connected with obsession about our looks, too. Love is in the air, everywhere I look around... And it is so pitiful that our lives are so concentrated on the matter, that we can't eaven enjoy life's other gifts that surround us.You're just too good to be true. Can't take my eyes off you.
Missed my point again.
So I was wondering. Does true love exist? Or it is only the wanted perfection we all seek but never find? I mean...what about Petrarca and his Laura, France Prešeren and Julia, (every single poet and his chosen one), Shakespeare and Mary Browne, Jane Austen and Tom Lefroy,...
It seems that true love was invented by those who had experienced it, but also suffered all their lives becouse of it. So I can't come to a bottom line of this. I simply don't know... and surrender, with the tought that all in all it's just a myth, which makes us happy just with believing in it.
Everything I wrote feels pathetic now. It's pitiful how we struggle in this world. Trying to reach it, not knowing if we would ever succeed, and when we are almost sure we've found it, it all falls to peaces. And we are left lonely, in the middle of our lifes, without any streinght to do it all over again, relizing it was all just in fairytales, facing the ugly and brutal truth and painfully giving in, too tired and broken to continue...In this world, it is like this. It always was.
Love of my life, you've hurt me, you've broken my heart and now you leave me.

I might continue this issue, when I "discover" some other point of view, a more optimistic one....Becouse I would really like to believe in true love, too.