I’ve finally come to a conclusion…the first in my life I think. I’m in love. What an annoying nothing…the word love. Undermined after years of unrepresented use and manipulative thought. Contemporary teens, playing with matches to start a fire that will only burn down their own foundations of security and ontology. It’s a card trick to them, after all they’re immortal, apprehensions are as pointless as relationships. Throwing around promises that should tear the doors of heaven apart revealing metaphors incapable of description, but instead suffocates in a beer glass. Love use to mean something. It still does for me, but for others it’s a cryptic dialogue, disguised for the mere purpose of placation. To reach that level of appeasement, to get her into your room or to that party or into that pathetic dream that was summoned from the filth of petulant, diseased weakness. Riches used to buy money less valuable. Absurd reality that tortures its puppets. It’s a momentary high that you inhale when unhappiness overcomes boredom: “I think I love that girl over there,” as he falls from the pinnacle of a drunken revelation. What does he think? Jesus Christ, what happened to that inexplicable emotion that could jump into a pregnant pool of chaos and bear harmony? I’m just rambling of course, because who wants to be told that their life is extravagant without love? Or can infinity truly reside inside a moment’s establishment?
The only light in breath becomes that crystal that reflects the only happiness. Pretty rock. The reason to brush your teeth, build materialism in a gym, make the field goal to win an A paper. So if she flies higher to a bird with brighter feathers do mine wither away? Our constructed bridge of self-image that chiseled a connection in her heart is burned, buried, and consumed by the soiling footsteps of the mass. Is my purpose forgotten, a blaring cacophony of everything worth living for now reduced to a mere...
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