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Amo, amas, amat, amuse

The road to Hell is paved with good intentions. The road to Love is paved with the bodies of those who have gone before you.

I remember being in love. Or at least I think I do. These days it's more like the echo of an illusion.

Just doing a bit of looking back, and the line showed up: ...I got a lecture from Barb on how messed up I was... from two years ago.

It's nice to be able to look back and remember that all was not primrose and graham cracker crust. There was a lot of suckage, even back then.

So what were the good parts? There were good parts, weren't there?

Weren't there?

I remember being married once. I remember that I was fantastically head-over-heels in love with the woman, in a way that I had never been before. I also remember the way that it turned around and became an evil parody of what it was supposed to be. I remember the pain.

But I don't remember the joy.

I know it was there. I remember that it was there. I remember the shape of what it was like, I remember the structure, like an empty shell. But I don't remember what it felt like.

It's like waking up from a dream where there was a gunshot, where you jump awake with a rush of adrenaline and the echo of the explosion ringing in your ears, except it isn't there, it never was, it's a phantom.

It seems that love is as elusive as a sighting of the Horny-back Pighead. So I turn my attention to something more concrete and easier to obtain:

Lust.

Lust is easier to codify. It's easier to identify, and easier to discard when it goes bad. It requires no committment, no promises, no expectations. It doesn't lie, it is just what it appears to be.

I expect nothing, and I am not disappointed.

Comments

( 3 comments — Leave a comment )
loba
Sep. 7th, 2005 11:15 pm (UTC)
This was sad to read....

.... and yet, I know parts of it rather well (as though they were lifted from the script of my *own* life recently....

I remember that I was fantastically head-over-heels in love.... in a way that I had never been before. I also remember the way that it turned around and became an evil parody of what it was supposed to be. I remember the pain.

The *hard* part, for me, has been the fact that I *do* remember the joy. I want to recapture some of it, and keep it to rebuild a friendship with this person.... and it's wound up much more like me banging my head against a large, rough, brick wall.

It's the longing to reclaim a part of that joy -- the memory of it (and its "closeness" and "good fit") that pains me so, even now. Because I *can't* recapture it, no matter how hard I've tried. And giving up on even a "friendship" has somehow felt like a betrayl.... like I'm throwing away something I ought to keep and prize.

Maybe I'm a bit daft, believing that I ought to be able to be friends with all of my exes. (But, except for this one, I *am*.)


I *do* hope you find the Liebesfreude your heart is looking for (even if yo're settling for less, right now). Because to be without joy (and not to even want it).... Es ist tiefbetrübt.

Es ist absolut zum Kotzen.
loba
Sep. 7th, 2005 11:21 pm (UTC)
(And yes, I do cheat, and use a dictionary.... maybe someday I'll speak German *well*.... )
missmollygrue
Sep. 8th, 2005 04:09 pm (UTC)
"I don't know what it is about you,
but I know it's not what it was.
I don't know why red fades before blue,
it just does."
( 3 comments — Leave a comment )

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