Tuesday, May 04, 2010

What is Love, Old Buddy?

I met a pal some days ago and it had been quite some time since we swapped stories over cheap, foul-tasting coffee and cigarettes so off we went to the vending machine to get our poison. As the sun retreated beyond the horizon, sickened by the things it saw human beings did to each other, we sat on the curb and drank coffee and smoked cigarettes and talked.

Some minutes later a girl with breasts Richard Wagner would’ve written an opera for passed by. She was wearing a tiny T-shirt (such cruelty to cotton, I thought) that simply asked: What is Love?

My friend and I looked at each other and I asked him: “What is Love, old buddy?”

And so he began:

“Love is when you meet a woman and you can’t help but wonder what thoughts those large almond-shaped eyes hold because those eyes are hypnotic and they seem to look deep into your soul and you can’t help but wonder what delights that pale flesh promises because that flesh is young and pure and untouched and you can’t help but laugh when she laughs because she roars like a Viking full and earth-shaking and there’s a spark God help you there’s that spark and you stare at her and she stares back with a question on her round face sliding down her pretty nose begging to be released through her tiny mouth and you want to answer that question yes you want to say to whatever that question is because you already know the question even if she doesn’t ask it and she’s afraid and she’s nervous and she’s also excited and you want her because life is short and so you take and she gives and you taste and she lets you and you ask her and she says yes and your lives mingle and become one and your senses become one and your blood becomes one and your organs become one and your flesh becomes one and your souls become one and you teach her many things and she learns many things and you become beasts always hungry for each other and you become angels swooning in each other’s light and love oh love and you die a little every time she looks into your eyes with love and with lust and with devotion and your love becomes more intense and you want to burn the whole world so there will just be the two of you and there’s electricity enough to power Las Fucking Vegas for a century and there’s fire to put Mount Vesuvius to shame and there’s rain enough to purge humanity of its sins and it’s dangerous and beautiful and surreal and howling mad and one day she says she’s leaving you and she tears herself away and she feels the pain but not as much as you feel the pain and as she tears away from you your blood gushes forth and your innards slide across the floor and your senses burn and your nerves unspool and your soul flutters in the cold wind as tattered as your flesh and you grasp at her and you beg and you plead and you abandon your dignity and you run and you crawl and you whimper like a dog for a little love or a little sex or a little mercy and still she keeps walking away because there is no more love and no more lust and no more devotion in her eyes when she looks at you and you finally finally see that the only thing left there is pity and although the spark is still as bright as Lucifer in the firmament of your soul you know it's all but extinguished in hers it’s gone gone gone and so you now just want to crawl into some dark place to die.”

I chucked my cigarette and lit another one. “Let’s talk about something else,” I said.

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