Prose About Love

Tonight, I've come to the conclusion that love is nothing but a pretty story mommy told me to get me to sleep on nights when I was sad. I guess that's why I'm a dreamer, afraid to wake up to the bold smell of coffee in summer. I should've know she was lying by the way she fought with dad, who I barely remember. Or maybe love is a hairy and mysterious creature who hides deep in the woods where a few people claim to have experienced it, but carry only blurry photos as evidence. I live in the city though -- there's no woods for miles, so if it is hiding somewhere deep in the treeline I'll never see it.

I'm tired of one night stands. Sex is boring and I haven't had a boner in a week. There comes a point when the lust that burns in your chest just burns you away. I'm nothing but a charred skeleton now, unable to fall asleep without the sharp lullaby of a syringe that sings to me in a language I'll never quite understand. Yet I cling to every word.

I want nothing more than to fall asleep next to my best-friend, then wake up early to make her breakfast as light shines on my face through the window. But I haven't seen the sun in days and I sleep spooning my pillow that leaves me for the floor sometime during our embrace.

I want nothing more than to pack up a truck with her and drive out west just to stare at the desert stars in the bed of our pickup, filled with pillows and the warm darkness of virgin wonder. I promised I'd save myself for you, but it's been years and I've never even met you, and every time I fucked it felt like I was cheating and cried. But you're probably just as much of a whore as I am. There's some things you just cant erase -- but like a bad tattoo, the coverup can be beautiful if you know the right artist. Our souls are tied together on a string, and somehow I can feel your pain tugging from the other side of the world. I hope you can feel mine.

You're divine, but like everything else divine there is doubt. I probably just made you up inside my head to numb the cold reality of life. I hate love songs but I cant stop listening to them. their lullabies are far softer than the needle's. The needle that I know is real, the skin that I know is real, and the heart that I know is real. It looks nothing like the emocon heart <3, Its far uglier and full of veins and tubes that will eventually decay without ever fluttering in the presence of true love.

But I don't care. Love, just sing me your false gospel so I can fall asleep.