I am on a plain flat out search for the rarest of souls.
Unrequited love in its most healthy of forms still debilitates the soul. Especially if it is realized in the motif as the one who missed the bus on purpose. Let’s use me as an example. I’ve had three distinct chances to marry and settle down and turn my lust into a baby machine. But mad crushes feel so good. And marriage and kids and mortgages impede the pursuit of love. I know for a fact that people commit before they mean to because they are pressured or scared or tricked or vulnerable. And they live out the structure of their haste to form something that may very well morph into nothing.
It astonishes me how quickly children and mortgages make people age physically. Or am I immature? Should I buy an Immortgage? I think I’ve coined a phrase. It’s a word that means rent and financial and physical independence.
I am on a plain flat out search for the rarest of souls. I’m sick of listening to friends speaking in the gluey, mired language of getting more and more weighed down by husbands they don’t like and driveways they want paved and fences they want built and sperm they hate in their womb. Idiotic. Screw this. Go ahead. Paint your bedroom. Buy a cheap cut of steak for dinner. Wear aponcho to the game as if it will shield you from the rain. She might be the most beautiful woman on the planet, but she’s in a wheel-spinning mud rut forever.
I am on a plain flat out search for the rarest of souls.
1 comment:
You sound so jaded...There's a line from a book I read once that goes like this,
"Elaine had come to believe, however, that happiness just might lie in banality and convention. There was a reason those were the choices most people made."
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