While riding through rural Kentucky, past lonely tobacco farms I couldn’t help but wonder about the lives of the people who toil away on them. The farmhouses sit far apart with big fields and tracts of land between them.
How do people find each other and fall in love there?
Are small towns and remote villages a testament to the idea that humans are resilient and will simply pick from the best of the readily available pool to keep the species going? A nod to “love the one you’re with” and “what’s love got to do with it?” at the same time.
Realistically, I’m sure that’s the case. But as a lover of the idealized need within people for romantic love, the concept of strictly working towards continuing the species seems kind of sad to me. Not to mention it’s also exclusionary for people who cannot procreate together. There’s just got to be something more to it. Right? Maybe in its infinite wisdom, the universe puts “soul mates” in each small town that dots the landscape. As people we just might be too dopey to leave our antennas up and so we aren’t always picking up the right channels.
The fanciful part of me prefers to think that love is some divine thing that wraps its luminous threads around people and ties them together. When you’ve been struck by cupid’s arrow and it lights your heart on fire it is hard to imagine that it is anything but transcendent. I like that naïve idea better.