something about love

"yeah, that's good"

March 11, 2016

love is a predictable, overused, overbearing, and cumbersome idea which can be found in everyday situations, its power underlying simplicity. love is a purity holding all that is innocent and all that feels. countless people discuss, research, and interpret it. a number of scenarios come to mind when thinking of love. following are a few which come to mine.

it consists of ice cream and kids losing their first teeth and getting nickels underneath their pillows. it consists of violins playing in a park with no one listening. and it consists of books falling off shelves, the owner finding them and brushing the dust off and blinking a few times, treating the book as delicately as he would one of recent purchase. it consists of broken bottles, wilted flowers, and the darkest tints of blue. love consists of any number of juxtapositions as it combines every heartbroken nighttime escapade and reckless honeymoon.

it consists of a waiter’s smile. it consists of a waiter’s smile after he just worked all day. after his confused relationship reached an abrupt end and his girlfriend didn’t call back and his coworker was sick so he had to put in some late night work hours. it consists of his tears blending into the soppy mixed up bubbly froth of cheap pink dish soap and used clinking silverware dancing together in the sink. it consists of his ability to personify these utensils, creating intricate love fables for them, only to further dwell on the loss of his dearest love. it’s his reach to grab his face. to cover the tears and to straighten his tie. to straighten his black tie that’s color has faded. the tie she got for him. it’s his reaching that ends in his elbow slipping into the pink lake of grime and lovemaking silverware. love consists of this man. this man who decides after experiencing a day that shouldn’t go on, to push. it features this man who hears the service bell and exhaustively approaches the counter. this man who tightens his forearms, wipes his tears, and walks to his designated table to ask cheerfully how the new party of people are doing. he cloaks them in a moment. he helps them decide what to eat, gives their child a box of crayons, and returns to his kitchen with his list of orders. love is when this man drops onto the brown tiled floor of what was earlier in the day a busy kitchen. when he looks at the clock and sees how late it is. love is when he wonders what a family is doing at some diner with some cook and some waiter at 1 o’clock in the morning. love consists of this man; his valiance, desires, sincerity, and heartache. love consists of the child who received the crayon box. whose biggest problem is that the color yellow isn’t in there. and it consists of this child’s innocence and unknowing that years down the road he’ll be worried about what color his love wants in their painting, rather than in his. it’s his unknowing that family outings like the one he’s on are scarce and that though you may look back and see a barrage of what seemed to be out-to-eats, the moments fade and surrounding people distance. love is an accumulation of life’s moving mechanisms and confused tactics that mash together to create this cog machine cycling love that coddles the heart then kicks it. love is the sadness, the happiness, and everything in between. love is life’s ability to make all of the world seem okay by seeing the right person smile, as well as its ability to make the world crash at seeing the worst person smile. the best things about love consist of its consistency. however many a falter, however many brokenhearted young gentleman, however many ignorant children, love surrounds, cycles, and is beauteous by way of the consistency it lives through us with.

love is rather interpretive and has no solidified medium through which it travels.

it is a radically used, tiresome, exciting, dangerous marvel; the crutch of living.

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