Love is a topic I am at not of liberty to discuss but here I go anyhow...
Love, an archeological dig, repetitive and demanding. Years of tired techniques and sun scorched skin. Two people entitled to one another. Entitled to the promise of each other. The end all be all kinda love. Absurd pet names kinda love. Drunk in public fighting kinda love. And then suddenly it ends, some one dampers the intense love dynamic. A spear to the core of it, zapping it's credibility. So at the end of the day what do you have? A measly story, a moment in time captured by a camera's zoom which is then interrupted when the pictures at hand burn and fray. You then vow to enter love a little less naive next time. You'll refer to him in past tense and keep his hoodie. You think to yourself he'd make for a great story one day. And all of this, this warped cycle is supposed to entice me? Rather it makes me think that lovers are fools. Playing a blind hand. Betting chips on a sinking ship. I might chirp and squirm but I make a valid point. Can you love if your end result is a foiled plan? Sound off 1,2.
"If neurotic is wanting two mutually exclusive things at one and the same time, then I'm neurotic as hell. I'll be flying back and forth between one mutually exclusive thing and another for the rest of my days."
Sylvia Plath
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