Below is my polished personal response to the photo by Elliot Erwin that captures the idealized the romantic couple in a rear-view mirror.

What do these texts suggest to you about idealism and truth in an individual’s life? Support your idea(s) with reference to one or more of the texts presented and to your previous knowledge and/or your experience. 

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I met Jonathan Caraway in the summer of 1942, in Long Island. He was a firm man, who stood a height of 5’11 – he never strayed an inch. He had a  good posture, and he carried himself with a certain air of dignification where ever he went. He was the type of man who could convince you of anything if he tried hard enough, no matter how crazy it was. He was an intelligent fella’, and a proud one too. He used to talk about the love he had for this country, and boy, did he had a good way with words. You could almost smell the passion on him. It smelt like salt water.

I met Jonathan as I was walking along the pier one morning – I was holding my copy of Jane Eyre and he stopped dead centre in the middle on the street, dropped to one knee, and asked me to marry him. I was shocked! The man was crazy like that! Naturally, I asked him what inspired such a silly endeavour, and he looked me dead in the eyes and said “I don’t know, it was just something ’bout those eyes of yours. There’s something real about them. Those brown eyes look like eyes that a man could fall in love with.” And that’s how I met him, exactly like that. He didn’t even ask my name, he just up and proposed. I liked that about him – it was something that made us similar. He was truthful and he was real, and he was the type of man who didn’t like to wait around for things. He didn’t like to waste his time – he was always making the most out of every moment. He didn’t believe in idealizing things, he believed in truth, and so did I. And the truth was, I was only staying in Long Beach for the summer with my momma, and he was waiting to head overseas in the fall. The truth was, we were destined to fail, but to be honest, I couldn’t give a damn, because when I looked into those piercing blue eyes of his, I saw him challenging me. He was always challenging me: daring me to do things, hell, even his physique managed to challenge me. His caramel locks challenged my black curls, his blue eyes challenged my chocolate orbs, so when those broad hands of his creeped around my waist, he challenged me, and I accepted.

After that, we began spending the summer messing around with each other, and boy did we fall. We fell so deeply in love. I loved that man so much; the two of us were inseparable. We used to take drives down to the pier and just sit and watch the waves crash against the shore. There was something so attractive about the wildness of the water – the way it was so alive one second, and within the blink of an eye, it was a gone. The uncertainty and the passion that existed in the reality of the waves was what I idealized. I wanted a love that was like the ocean. A love that was based off of fate and reason. I idealized truth. Jonathan and I never talked about marriage, never about kids, no, when Jonathan and I were together, we laughed and we talked about the current events, about songs on the radio, and about the ocean and the secrets it held in it’s waves. We lived in the present.

I spent my whole summer with that man, and that was damn near the best summer I’ve ever had. In the fall, Jonathan left to fly overseas, like I knew he would. We drove to the pier, and he kissed me, long and slow. I want to say that it felt magical and life changing, but it didn’t. It felt real – like any other kiss, like it was any other day because, it was. Nevertheless, he held me in his arms, and I melted into that man of 5″11. We didn’t say much to each other. I just thanked him, for making me feel like a wave. Neither of us cried. We just didn’t say much. There wasn’t much to say. No tears were shed between us – there was a common understanding. Tears wouldn’t change anything. Tears were simply just salt water.

Jonathan died that fall. I found the letter on my doorstep back home – it was from friends back in Long Island. I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t upset, but I certainly wasn’t surprised. I understood the weight of it all. We were in love yes, but we were also at war. He loved me, but he also loved his country. That was the thing about Jonathan, nothing with him was guaranteed. Whether we won the war, whether he lived or died, whether our love survived, nothing was guaranteed, and that was something I needed to understand. I think that was why I never cried. I barely even weeped to be honest. Tears still wouldn’t change anything. They were just salt water.

The truth was, what Jonathan and I had was the farthest thing from an ideal. We weren’t perfect. We were a chance, our love was an opportunity to have something that was real. One must realize that all good things – all real things – come to an end. So, as long as you can understand that, then you can understand the uselessness that comes with idealism, because when you accept your truths and live to your fullest extent, ideals aren’t needed. There is joy that can be found in uncertainty. Truth is, uncertainty. Good things come to an end, but love lasts forever. My love for Jonathan is everlasting, so, it doesn’t matter to me whether he’s six feet in front of me, or he’s six feet below. To me, he’ll be always be that man of 5″11 with piercing blue eyes.

Jonathan’s love was like a wave. It came all at once, crashing down on me, and sweeping me under the the waters of truth. Our love was wild and it was a challenge. It was there in one moment, and in the next it was gone, and it was the farthest thing from ideal. It was real.

I wouldn’t change a thing.