Have you ever met a potential romantic partner who was absolutely perfect on paper? Your seemingly ideal exact match who fits the definition of everything you said you ever f*cking wanted in the whole spectrum of your life?

The person who claims his or her dreams of the future are precisely cohesive with your dreams for the future?

The person who boasts a career that beautifully complements your career? A rare entity who every single human being residing in your orbit madly approves of?

At first, you can’t quite believe your unbelievable luck. Over romantic candlelit dinner dates in little Italian restaurants, you both marvel at your seemingly outrageous compatibility.

Conversation is fluid. Seamless. Effortless. Oh so easy.

You’re never stammering to find the right words. You’re somehow able to discuss your radical political opinions with the lovely little ease usually reserved for trite small talk.

Everything. Just. Fits.

Your single best friend is bewildered by the acute perfection of your new suitor.

“Why can’t I meet someone like that,” she moans to you over a teeming glass of blood red wine at a dark downtown bistro.

“You’re so f*cking lucky,” she exclaims as she lights her third Marlboro in a row and exhales a grey cloud of smoke into the starless midnight city sky.

Yeah. You are f*cking lucky.

Except something is… missing. Something you’ve been trying your damn hardest to ignore with every fiber of your being.

So what is it? What’s the important piece of the puzzle that is blatantly missing?

Fiery passion.

Ahh, maybe it’s not that important? Who needs soul-penetrating sweeps of desire and insatiable pangs of lust and infuriating, soul-pulling, all-consuming, heart-wrenching bouts of infatuation, anyway?

Save it for the romance novels and the slew of Disney movies that drugged us with empty promises, right?

So you’re all fine and dandy, until you meet someone, out of the f*cking blue, who hits you with a fist of fiery passion.

And all of a sudden, everything you thought you ever wanted in this life comes spiraling into question at the speed of rapid fire.

All the feelings you worked so hard to feel with your “perfect person,” you suddenly organically feel with this random person who has fueled you with an irrepressible bout of passion.

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It’s science: You can’t get enough of his smell. You love her taste. You long for his touch. You could get lost locking her lips for hours and hours.

There are electric sparks of desire that spark up your heart just from grazing fingertips.

Maybe your dreams don’t match. Maybe you can’t agree on f*cking anything in the entire world. Your politics clash.

Maybe you’re about as wildly different as two people could ever possibly be.

You wonder how in the hell this newfound relationship will ever stand a semblance of chance at working out?

But that’s the thing with fiery passion: It’s a force so relentless and strong that it’s impossible to ignore. As much as you try to sweep passion under the rug, it will rise to the surface.

There is an intoxicating pull, an ethereal draw that magnetizes you to him or her.

You’re suddenly hell-bent with a whole spectrum of feelings you’re simply not used to feeling. You can’t control them. It pushes you out of your head and into your heart. It lives outside the confines of your comfort zone.

When you’re caught up in the throes of fiery passion, it doesn’t always end up exactly the way in which you want it to end.

Sometimes you end with a heart shattered into a million little pieces. Sometimes you end up hurt and direly disappointed.

Sometimes your differences are just far too great, and it doesn’t work out despite the influx of fiery passion. Sometimes the passion is too much, too powerful and brings far too many insecurities to the surface.

So. Is it worth the risk? What do you choose? Compatibility or fiery passion?

I used to think compatibility was security. But now that I’m more secure in myself and am confident that nothing, not even heartbreak, can break me — I would choose a tiny taste of fiery passion over a lifetime of compatibility.

Compatibility is something; fiery passion is everything.

Don’t get me wrong; I think compatibility is fantastic. It’s simply lovely and fabulous to easily get along with another person.

But can’t compatibility be cultivated with enough heaps of hard work and relentless determination? Isn’t compatibility something that can be worked on through the fine art of compromise?

Fiery passion is something you either have or don’t have. It’s black and white. You feel it the very moment your lips brush up against one another.

Fiery passion is what separates friends from lovers. If I can only share simple compatibility with a person, I would rather be friends with him or her.

Fiery passion is what makes the hard work of all romantic relationships worth the battle. You need electricity to keep the love alive.

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Compatibility works; fiery passions KILLS.

Compatibility works beautifully and effortlessly. You’re terrific travel companions. Glorious friends. Partners in crime.

But that’s not what I’m looking for. I have enough fantastic friends scattered around the surface of the planet.

I’m looking for someone to push me out of my stiff zone of comfort. Someone who can challenge me and make me feel all the feelings I’ve been too afraid to feel. Someone who can conjure up new feelings within me.

I crave the fiery passion that leaves my brain lingering on the feeling of a touch all day long.

Compatibility is comfortable; fiery passion is exciting.

I desire a love that makes my body teem with unabashed pinpricks of excitement. A love that makes me feel so f*cking alive.

I want my friendships to be built on the foundation of pure comfort. Love, I’m willing to fight for.

Stir the pot. Make me nervous. Spark up my tired f*cking heart.

Compatibility is secure; fiery passion is just the right amount of dangerous.

I have finally reached a solid point in my life where I trust myself. I trust I will provide for myself. I trust I can fall asleep alone. I want someone; I don’t need someone.

As opposed to when I was younger, I no longer care about being rescued. I have built a foundation within myself that provides me with all the security I need. I’ve done the work. I’ve learned how to save myself.

I inherently know no person could ever break me. The only person who can break me is, well, me.

I trust my judgment. I listen to my instincts; they have yet to let me down.

I crave a hint of dangerous love. I’m not talking about toxic, violent, scary danger; I’m talking about love danger. The kind that makes you feel alive. The kind that twists your stomach up in knots and makes you anything but cool.

“I wasn’t much of a petty thief. I wanted the whole world or nothing.”

Charles Bukowski, “Post Office”

By Zara Barrie
Source – elitedaily.com