Long ago, when music was rectangular, I was voted by my senior class “most likely to survive capital punishment.” Of course, there are many different kinds of love. Some are angry fun, others, a one-car funeral. Like that time we were driving across the Golden Gate Bridge and you told me that I have two different colored eyes. I realized, right then and there, we are spied upon by our own Wi-Fi. As long as I am barreling through this amnesia, I might as well mention that incident with the lesbian robots. At first, I thought it was a party trick, until you told me it was just me. How was I to know it wasn’t necessary to communicate exclusively via homophones? What did you expect? I don’t read music, although I do own all the Led Zeppelin Christmas albums. By the way, I don’t care what color they are, Fruit Loops are all an identical flavor, and I’m willing to bet some real Hollywood money to prove it, too. Yes, I was in church when that terrible weight-lifting accident happened. The barbells were so heavy, not even Jesus could lift them. But as you know, we’re always willing to forgive beauty, even if we’re never prepared to forgive love. Just as time leaks from a clock, little by little, love leaks from our lives. There is nothing we can do about it. It’s the just law of averages. Because everyone knows love is nothing like that.
Appears in Camroc Press Review, August 13, 2014