A Second Chance On Marriage

Is Love Something We Invented So We'd Feel Pain More Intensely?

Charlie's Pov:

"I always wondered why we feel love. Not just the chemical make-up of love, and not the studies and research behind it, but why did we decide that love equates to a long and meaningful life? Why do sweet nothings and small gestures give us a feeling like no other? I have loved, but at what cost? These are the questions I've asked myself but have always found myself in paradoxes trying to find an answer. Instead, I portrayed them through abstract productions. No one ever fully grasps them but does anyone ever really grasp love? If love is supposed to be as abstract and complex as we humans say it is then maybe I don't want my work to be entirely understood.

I thought I knew was love was but maybe we fall in love with the idea and quirks of each other rather than the being in front of us. The way Nicole was never embarrassed, or publicly humiliated. The way she gave her full attention to anyone who just wanted to be heard. individuals who lost their voices with nothing but a clipboard and a message on the streets of New York. She signed petitions like autographs. Her finger tips would glide the pen across the paper so swiftly, her signature melted into the pages with each loop on those black lines. Her kindness resonated. 

She was family oriented, pushing you to fulfill your aspirations, and if not that, at least being able to say you tried. She was a hurricane in our humble abode. Her socks would be littered as if it were a treasure hunt; X marked the spot everywhere but the laundry room where they actually belonged. Opened cabinets as if she had mistaken them for windows and just wanted some fresh air on a dewy morning. Playing with our son Henry seemed like an economics class more than anything. It was always Monopoly. She would wield pencils as her gavel and if she couldn't have it her way would call an objection. She was brave. She once starred in a movie, All Over The Girl. If it were up to me, Henry would never be able to find out about it but eventually, he will probably discover this obscenity.

These patterns became so monotonous, I was standing in the eye of the hurricane. So calm, completely mundane. Perhaps Nicole and I were dancing in the eye. Slowly, a minuet if you will. Even if it was just for a minute, the sways of our auras, our beings, felt like this so-called storm had a metronome. But can you compare a storm to love and be correctly portraying what is it like to be in love? Perhaps love can identify as an invention. Who knows, maybe Hallmark had the patent on love to advertise sappy and mediocre clichés. But in all seriousness, is love something we invented so we'd feel pain more intensely?" I finally took a breath. My tongue was worn out. 

I almost forgot the tongue is also a muscle. 

The therapist looked at me in awe, or at least I think it was awe. Boredom can sometimes be interpreted as awe. Silence doesn't always mean astonishment.

"Mr. Barber," he finally broke this silence. The room was filled with the scent of stale coffee as he spoke. "You definitely do carry your work into your personal life," he took a chuckle at his own remark. I could make a guess at what this meant if I wanted to but, instead I interrogate him. "Sir, what are you trying to imply?" His sighs and chuckles went away. He looked at me with an ice cold stare.

"Charlie, do I even need to be answering this? I mean, did you not hear a single word of your monologue? You were made to be a playwright. So much so that you carry it into your personal life. Sentences are not sentences without a big explanation of why you worded it the way you did. Little junctions here and there as if this is nothing but a rough draft and you're reminding yourself to go back and revise it later. I would go on but sadly, I don't have enough information collected to practically quiz you on why you feel the way you do. I am simply here to listen for now and that's it. So go on, Mr. Barber."