Love and the Art of Self-Doubt

The party was over
And I just had to go for a walk
I’m in love and I’m fucked
Because my love is pure and righteous
Huge and all-encompassing
Vulgar and primordial
Undeniable and unchainable
In other words,
My love is super special

I’m in love and I am completely fucked
And now I really need to go for a walk
This isn’t like the last time
… I was in love with the sex
Or the time before that
… I was in love with the money
Or the time before that
… the sex again
Or the time before that
… I was really drunk… for a month

No!
This time it’s for real
I’m in love and I’m totally fucked
This girl… she’s got me all strung out
I think of her
And pieces of old rock ballads roll through my mind
I think of her
And I want to lay her down on a bed of roses
Even though every rose has it’s thorn
Because I need her tonight
More than words
So come on feel the noise

I’m in love and I’m loosing my mind
And I really need this walk
How do you prepare yourself for something like this?
How do you rationalize this?
This love thing…
It’s overrated, really
It’s like buying a pet
All well and good at first
But eventually it’s just gonna be yet another small tragedy
You’re puppy is going to die
And love… yes, love is going to die

I’m in love and I am totally, completely fucked
And I can’t walk far enough
And why the fuck do we fall in love anyway?
To validate our existence or some Freudian shit like that?
Are we just gluttons for punishment?
In the closet mental sadomasochists at heart?
Or is it just a chemical anomaly due to our inherent prerogative
To perpetuate the species?
I mean,
What’s so special about this girl?
What’s the difference between her and every other girl I’ve ever met?
She’s good looking,
But I’ve seen better
… but none with a smile quite so enchanting…
She’s intelligent,
But I’ve met smarter
… but none that sound so cute when talking about Dostoevsky…
She’s witty,
But I’ve heard funnier
… but none that could recite Monty Python AND Dennis Leary at a whim…
I don’t get it
Wait… no… I do get IT
I just don’t understand IT

I’m in love and I’m being redundant
And I’m running
My ego is an iron maiden
My id is an old black man
My libido is hooked on crystal meth
And I still can’t stop smoking cigarettes
And I can’t stop thinking about her
About running my fingers through her hair
… a forest of the finest silk threads
Gazing into her eyes
… deep and blue as the tropical sea, and just as easy to sink into and lose myself in
Feeling her pale skin beneath my fingers
… smooth and flawless like polished marble
Kissing her burgundy lips
… as sweet as wine, opening to my probing tongue like a supple rose bud

I’m a fucking poet
That’s why I can say shit like that and get away with it!

I’m in love and I’m making bad analogies
And my feet hurt
The longing for a destiny is nowhere stronger than in our romantic life.
All too often forced to share our bed with those who can not fathom our soul,
Can we not be forgiven if we believe ourselves fated to one day stumble across the lover of our dreams?
And when we do find them, what then?
In the beginning it’s all special and new.
Every day together is a day to remember.
The sex is great, and the conversations are endless.
Anniversaries are celebrated by the week, the month, the six month, and then… holy shit… the year.
Yeah, the year.
It all changes from there
By then you know too much.
Every idiosyncratic habit that defies your idea of what this person should be become magnified and unignorable.
Petty arguments become full blown fights.
The conversations dry up
And the romance dies
And pretty soon not even the sex is good,
Unless it comes immediately after a fight.
So you fight just to have make-up sex
And that just makes shit worse.
And a little bit further down the line,
Even that goes away.
When presented with the proposition of sex,
She’d rather be watching reruns on cable
And you’d rather be drinking
So much for love…

But who’s to say we even get that far?

Sure.
I could set the ball in motion
Tell her how I feel
Make my love known…
I can see the conversation already
I could call her up,
Invite her out for coffee
And while sitting there
With an espresso
And her
I could find some smooth
Slick
Suave way to broach the subject
Of me
And her
And while I profess my undying passion and devotion
Bearing my heart and soul
She can sit there and stare blankly
And say nothing
Until
“I think you’re a really great guy”
or
“I’m just not ready for a relationship right now”
or
“We can still be friends, right?”
Sure.
This would send me into a downward spiral
Of hate and self-loathing
I’d drink more than usual
Not answer my phone
Be an asshole to anyone I came in contact with
Glare menacingly at any couples I passed on the street
Throw pocket change with deadly precision at anyone I saw kissing in public
And write really shity poetry

I think I’ll pass.

I’m in love and she’ll never know
I’m in love and I’m going home