Love is a loud accusation being shouted at you from the back of a shitty dive bar. The noise pollution cuts through the walla walla of idle chatter. Who the fuck is yelling all those ugly, slurred words in your direction?! You flex your ego and ball up your fists. “When I find that rude motherfucker, I am going to put my knuckles right through their face. I’m going to crush their windpipe and shatter their jaw.” You bluster in the direction of the crowd — even though you’re speaking to no one in particular — as you grab a bottle and smash it against the side of a table. But no matter how tough you think you are, you’re always bringing a bottle to a knife fight. And if you bring a knife, you’re walking into to a gun fight. And if you bring a gun, you’re charging into a chemical weapons brawl. And if you bring chemical weapons, you’re running into a nuclear arms race. ‘Cause no mater how bad ass you are, love is bigger, nastier, and willing to do what you’re not.
Love is comically huge, 8-bit video game style bullet moving at the speed of "holy fuck these graphics suck!" You twiddle your thumbs waiting for the god damn thing to cross the screen. There is no possible way you can fuck this up… but you always seem to jump at the wrong moment.
Love is wearing your favorite sweater in the middle of a heat wave but being too stubborn to strip it off. It’s swimming in the ocean when you’re dying of thirst. It’s being allergic to citrus when you’re dying of scurvy. It’s being lactose intolerant but eating a second scoop of ice cream anyway…
Love is a lot like death, without the release from sensation or responsibility; without the bliss of being unaware that you’re rotting away underground.
It will fucking end you…
But it can also bring you back, reborn and fresh…so it can slay you… but then you rise back up… again and again… like a zombie.
And sure, you’re a fucking zombie, but technically so was Jesus and things seemed to work out pretty well for him in the end, right?
At least someone might write
lies stories about you.