As you’ve loved, you came to see that true love is rarely felt, and when it happens, it can be easily pointed out. Not saying we’re sure of its existence or strength right from the start but as we awake to the conscience of its presence, we know and we won’t let go.
A first love is what it takes to savour its power, the following experiences may be mistakes, unsteady passions, breezy feelings so that the third shot will be charmful and real, and charm is now something you can distinguish with ease, as you’re currently an experimented lover. It took time, a lot of it, and sleepless nights spent thinking of said time, a time that ran only in your heart, never in her head.
Your taste in people is elevated now, you with your master’s degree in Feeling Rationalization pinned to your shirt, walk the city, unrushed, freely admiring all the beauty that unnoticed, would call you every time you plodded down that same filthy street. A street bridging the only two states of your depressive modus operandi, according to which you were maintained alive but narrowly living, Sadness and Nostalgia, these two sharing an obligatory relation of symbiosis.
To whom will you hand yourself now? A worthy one; choosing someone to admire is easy for the simple reason that they’re obvious, the simplest of their attitudes will seem interesting, the words by them spoken are all but interesting as well, their eyes gaze upon you only to cause a physical and immediate response, you’ll regurgitate all the tender essence you contain, eager to be disemboweled from inside you to then blend together with another, the proper one. You gain a life that fosters your entrance in the modernist period of Romantic Rebound, and you follow and rise the gates. You’re in.
Though, this time, step by step you carefully scavenge the emotional contents of your recently warming corpse, you’ll retrieve the strictly necessary, no more no less, get dressed and clad in the purest of your intentions you initiate a wise walk in this now curiously similar promenade. You play and let yourself be played ’cause this time you rule the game. You could cheat but you adopt fairness, a beautiful effort prone to be rewarded. Will love be kind?
Opened, you become one with the one that seems amazing, she is there, has always been, was never a stranger, a friend. You smile now with her as you once smiled to your love. Means this anything or should friendships feel this way? I must confess that a man is barely a friend of a woman, she either means something to him and is missed, or she doesn’t and is mundane, lost and sprayed with the same regular tint of indifference that colours every other.
So friendships are not friendships, they’re love still in denial or love already denied. The ones who tripped and still crouch in between phases, hidden they pretend to stay unbothered with the dispassion to them reciprocated. Well, they’re damned and here I sit, rudely smiling thinking of them, poor people that’ll soon come to realize how and why I write all this blanc poetry, they’ll know that a common man does not grow insane by choice.