Your love song is a stale sandwich. Formerly promising in all it's squared-away nutrition. Check marked passed for sanitary laws. A Chicken Santa Fe, published at Starbucks. Sterile and chilling with a label stamped :Flatbread.
Your love song is formulaic. At least the popular ones. The kind I was told I enjoyed; listening past bed time, plotting my future lives after. Producers of tweenesque sing-a-longs saw my demographic cluelessness. My mind as pliable as tooth paste. Toward me they narrowed around a vision of blinking red LED lights, aiming audible missiles that read, won't see it coming. They knew how to do it. Crashing their fiction into me: cryptic tales of seduction and exuberance. All for fractions of a cent. Despite that, they did good. So young I imagined freedom birthed from union of human bodies later to be known as adulterous oblongs. The summit of great human experience. Such melodies lulled me into day dreams, where I'd see premature premonitions-picture books intangible to me living in neuronal vessels projecting some idealized romance. These seeds planted such expectation. If I had never heard a long song, would I be so disappointed?
Ballads don't make me want to be "in love" anymore. If anything I cry at Dinah Washington. Fool that I am. Lately, I hear a romantic blues only to twist my lips and turn up my nose. To hear a love song is to realize how a sweet youthful person can grow old, fed up, and bitter. The vibration of my own breath increases with volume, phasing out the romances. Blocking out the bullshit.
I still choose to hear them from time to time. The aforementioned menaces. Actively listening, entertained, and more so than not so humored. I ask my friends if they've listened to Boys II Men lately, as if I'm "really into it". I don't think they realize I see " I'll Make Love To You" as a dark satire. No longer am I falling captive to a twisted sense of affirmation. Feeling so sure that the world would birth a lover wise and tender for me...make me want to Cherish the Day and lie down for one him. Reject heaven. Maybe it's because what used to sound probable and worth cherishing, now just sounds absurd.
Now I know a perfect love is unlikely. Most people who fall in love have habits that prohibit them from "going all the way". Most people cheat. They experience fear in relationships. Have jobs that they hide behind to keep them from their loved ones. Or would rather have a "sponsor" than a faithful husband. Whatever the case, these factors are truths. Truths that make the idea of one, devotional, monogamous love affair an unreachable, unrealistic, fantastical endeavor.
Even if you do find someone to love you unconditionally, your heart has likely been broken so many times, that fields of walls have been built around it to protect it's vulnerable state. Walls that could take years of political damage, warfare, and refuge to knock down. So if you're not yet aware that love is a war waiting to unfold. Go eat a sandwich.
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