So here I go on the beaten track again, you say. So be it. People more...interesting?...than me have fallen the great wazoo, if I may say so, the great wazoo of human emotions, never again to return. Since times immemorial (or let's say times memorial, just to stay on the safe side of political correctness), the human mind has been obsessed with this cute little idea of love. Obsessed? No, not really. More like exasperated, flabbergasted, astonished, ecstatic, and acutely pissed all at once. Not that that is a new phenomenon, of course; we humans have a habit of being all that, and more, with almost every known subject in the universe, but with love this (love?) affair has probably lasted the longest. I mean, hell, we still want to know about Helen of Troy, or Cleopatra, or somebody else's girlfriend, so much more than we want to know about the next President of the country. We never tire of talking in hushed tones by the campfire on a conspirational nights, of the "things" that are "going on".
And above all that, above all the gossips and lullabies and nursery rhymes and unbelievable history, there is this feeling of love itself, that nice gooey(?) feeling that every man seems to chase for the whole of his life, falling so often into things that look a lot like love but most often are not, that most often are just muck, pure and simple. But in the end, the very end, you do fall into it. You do end up standing on a rainy day with a rose in hand by the roadside, not thinking about the fact that you forgot the umbrella by your bedside, thinking merely about the fact that here comes your sweetheart, laughing heartily or smiling shyly, or bumbling stupidly, as you please (or love), and wondering why the fuck does time have to go so slow, and why the fuck she cant run over quickly and come and stand by your side. And time does run fast of course, awfully fast, just while she is by your side and talking and laughing and here comes the bus so I have got to go, bye, tata, sweet dreams and all the other lullabies you have to exchange before the sun goes down. That is it, really, for the day, and you have to sit at night and wonder and remember and think how much you love her and there goes your heart all bickery and panicky and I-am-going-so-kiss-my ass-ey, not caring for that poor little body that has to go to sleep, so help you God. And so you lie blissfully awake while your heart goes on beating(which living heart doesn't, but, figuratively speaking) and your mind goes on dreaming.
And there are so many sides to it, so many to love I mean; you enter into it expecting paradise, but it is just Mother Nature at her most powerful. There are storms as you have never seen before, there is lightning, and thunder, and yet there are gardens, and lakes and sunsets and sunrises. The world is so fucking beautiful, so damn fucking beautiful, and she is too, and damn this short circuited brain that cannot put a song for her on paper. All that comes is a stupid I love her.
And so we all bumble through life, and through love, one day or another. But how we wish it would never cease. How we wish we could love forever, we could be close and hold hands and just plain be good. Somewhere deep within that is what your heart wants, inspite of all the storms and all the lightning, but like all joys love, so often wears out, so often becomes a thing of the everyday, a thing of the mundane. It so very is not, I assure you, so very is not mundane, it is as wonderfully exotic a thing that could happen to you, but no, it's getting over, we can't go on. And that is when you give up, poor soul, that is where you let go, but someday, someday lying on a hospital bed with a creaking fan above you and a death clock ticking away somewhere in the background you will know, know that you must never have let go, know that the sweet intoxication of love never ends, it goes on, wavy and intermittent, but it goes on, one long smile till eternity.
So hold that hand my friend, and kiss those eyes, and never let go, even if the storms grow big and hard. I'll leave you then, in the arms of love, that sweet garden of Eden, and take leave, but dare you take leave, dare you leave her, and, well that's that.
Funny really the way things work out. I did go on the beaten track again.....
