There are nights I miss him more than others. Tonight is one such night. The brooding, or shall I say longing, began earlier this evening when a friend asked if he was my "first true love." I stumble when trying to answer such Romantic questions, often posed by little girls...but it's a real question. I'll try to answer it attributing a separate concept to each word in the trilogy.
"First": So ideal and childish. Why does order matter so much for lovers? Does the first really indicate the primary? Does it imply the truer and more special love than any i will [hopefully] ever have in the future?
And "Love": Pregnant. I, as a lover, don't know what it means or symbolizes. Many languages don't even have a word--implying its surreal nature (word?). I can't grasp the poetry or the science of it. Emotion and pragmatism lie buried under a dirty heap of ignorance. It is a question fit for the great scholars and philosophers at the time when fat women reigned. These philosophers would only answer questions with more questions, in the form of hyperbolic syllogisms. Further giving their audience of lovers more to muse.
"True": Is not as childish as the prior term when it pertains to love, but a source of pressure for the lover. How can one ever affirm that it's real? As if it's a home appliance or a mountain. Lovers cannot tangibly see or manipulate, only feel and think. With the overabundance of peril and unknowing contained in those last two acts, how can one judge anything based on them?
So, while standing in front of a pool table, with a Bud Light in hand--for it was not to be taken outside--and a cigarette between my unmanicured fingertips, it was difficult to answer my friend's question. I stalled while trying though, assuming that perhaps an acute moment of bravado may appear and bring wisdom with it...allowing me to answer. But I just replied with "yeah," because the latter would have taken too long.
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