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I fucking worship that word.
Worship it.
love. love. love. love love.love. love.
All you need is love. Love on the rocks.
you're lovely. don't you ever change. keep that girlish charm...
This word.
Love.
You, you all go on with your careers. You go and do your things - your living - your distracting. I will stay at the alter where I have l-o-v-e enblazoned. I know the genie will come and grant all my wishes and love love love will reign. it's all you need.
Love.
Love conquors all.
Make love to me. That is the most alive I will feel. It is the chopping wood (sartre's advice for depression until it - the big dep - nipped him in his own ass) of lovesickness. Make love to me. I am good at it. I am a skilled sex worker. Do you know why?
Because of love. I felt that I've loved every man in my bed. Loved him. I don't sleep with people I don't love has always been my motto. Oh, gasp.
I'm no whore. And the fact that you can't lie to me with your body. Just those nasty vocal cords with that nasty air that goes over them or those nasty fingers that tap on nasty keys or pick up pens.
Love. I will love you forever and ever. You, my lover, may come into my warm embrace and will not smother. I will feed you. I will pet you. NEVER LEAVE.
You - others - go and find your bliss and make your pots - make your money and fame. I will eat my lotus (it tastes so bitter) and sit in front of this alter that I have painted pink and red. I will have my headphones on blaring love songs. If my eyes need distraction, I will read love novels.
Love. Waiting for the One. Waiting for lover lover lover. No answer need be given but the wait. I am waiting for the big fire.
I have a lover.
I know nothing.
All of my youthful bullshit things and it was bullshit.
Do I sound bitter? I am. I am bitter because of all the things I messed up and all the foolish things I did in the name of this mirage and windmill.
I'm not alone. There are many who have done it. Few have done it to the exclusion of anything (as I have tried to do). Yes, you've read these words
correctly: I've done nothing but await - the One.
The thing.
Sometimes, I even call it god.
There have been times when I have gone on walks even thinking that It would be there. I have turned corners with a bit of glee and anticipation - at times.
I am a fool.
I actually consider myself lucky.
I'm relatively young.
These blinders. This thing.
I hear it is actually a curse of the romantic - the young. Wondering around for untold ages looking for the burden-sharer - the lover - the one.
I know nothing. I do not know if I still carry this hole. I do not know if my wound is festering, healing, or my arm is falling off.
It is annoying to love.
This thing I have sought for my whole life. I get the spell, and it annoys me to no end. I want to cast it off, twist it, abuse it, strangle it...
drown it. But it's part of me.
the crux.
Oh lor. I don't know what's to be done.
I vow to be more vain and narsissitic this year.
and repeat it as much as I want.
I love you, and it's fucked up at every turn.
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gardenias and the ocean and sunshine and lovemaking and wine and chocolate and laughter and songs and bliss...
yes.
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