Everyone imagines themselves just. Vigilantes armed with words that they cannot wield properly but with which can still maim. We are peyote snake-oil ministers in every outlet for thought; You ever listen to somebody talk? Then you are too.
There is a din in the streets clamoring to be heard from the bottom to the top. Bullhorn buglers are directing the blind and the bright-eyed over a cliff that keeps everything running. Tunnel with overhead lights that claim to be sunlight, but if sun ever touched our paleness then we may be evaporated and never heard from again. Or we may already be in raindrops bound sooner or later to hit the ground. And the sad reality is that the asphalt doesn’t soften up for anybody.
Love is the case in point.
My first girlfriend was beautiful and petite and was just as eager to have me as I was to have her. We talked to each other for a couple of days and then started dating, like kids do, we broke up three or so times before we really broke up.
I was in love with this girl. I can remember teaching her how to bake in my kitchen and kissing her for any reason and no reason at all. When I could see her I smiled, when she left I was ready to see her again. It was better than being addicted.
A creek that snaked through the property, sometimes we’d go swimming and once my dog snuck up and stole some of our clothes. I’d hold her in the middle of the creek as we kissed. Something more than anything I’ve ever known.
During this my parents would be at work and held up by migraines. Some variations included.
Now I know that my mother knew that I was in love, and I know that it made her happy. Something that my girlfriend and I talked about. I finally realize that love makes for a way of happiness. I can remember thinking about being loved back for as long as life.