dear god (and consider this my apology letter for drinking those three sodas when i said i'd give them up for Lent) (also excuse my language in advance) (i didn't even want to talk to you, but i am because it's not like anyone else cares) (sorry again in advance- again),
if you love everyone, forgive me but why the hell did you make love such a complex substance? love is like a chemical compound nowadays, and everyone is saving love for the birds because there is this concept that love only exists within your sacred community. love is an ephemeral sensation in time, dying out like rain drizzling from the sky. love is a concoction of the social construct that is time, thyme, angel piss and the remnants of cigarette butts. love is so real, but we only see it for an earsplitting moment in nostalgic french film noir from the sixties. "voila, je vais avait que sonne," she sings in her debonair whistle, clad in a foreign fur coat leaning on her husband's arm. see, like something out of a movie. sometimes love is ethereal, something so prestigious that it came right out of that very film.
and other times, love is redundant and sordid, its crooked teeth bearing itself at one another.