I still think it's okay to fall in love - that is whatever you may consider love. Which, for most people, it can be a multitude of things I will never bother taking a stab at trying to understand. Five months after writing my previous post on love, it's clear that I had an idea in my mind that has resonated to this very day. Love makes me want to spend money on a probably superfluous blog in order to talk about love. It's an awkward emotion that allows for happiness and sadness at any given whimsical and clairvoyant moment. Imagine it a jolt of excitement that quickly turns sweet or sour, with the latter being the somber avenue towards a deep dark depression; honestly, I just wanted to use alliteration there. But hopefully you get what I mean, and if not, I really do need to simplify my sentences. At the end of it all, vocabulary doesn't make love but it's certainly a method of expressing it when meaning is absent otherwise. For me, it's just that: a post mired in the depths of missed chances and opportunities, combined with a mixture of intricate syntax and vernacular to effectively cloud a perhaps too revealing fixture of intention. That is what I often find love to be. I happened to find myself a little late to the party today, much like last year and the year before that. Well, every year while we're still on the topic. When it all came into a sad fruition, I just wanted to go home and bake myself a nice chicken with a recipe I've been wanting to try out. At least I still love food. It has no will to resist me and I have complete control over how I want to love it - salt, pepper, cumin. But it doesn't love me, and because of that, we can't have a complete relationship. Now imagine the chicken passes its expiration date because that was a little like how I felt when I was late. In this sense, even my love for the chicken can't bring it back from the decaying matter that used to be known as an edible object. Worse - picture the chicken you were meaning to cook gone from your fridge. Your roommate was hungry, took a sly glance at the breast, and devoured it down with his choice of seasonings. I'd be pretty pissed off but could you really blame your friend if he were starving and that was the only thing to eat? The answer, therefore, has to be to eat the chicken as soon as possible. But what if I weren't hungry today and my roommate is going to be hungry tomorrow? Either eat the chicken today and not enjoy it or save it for tomorrow... to be stolen. I don't think we want any of these options.
And so we're back on square one with the sudden revelation that we need to love before its expiration date and before someone becomes too hungry. Funny thing is, we can only blame ourselves for the former and can't blame anyone else for the latter. Love is widely available but timing is absolutely crucial. Love needs to be carefully picked out, nurtured, and eaten only in its pinnacle of perfect timing. Undoubtedly hard to do and rather implausible to do perfectly. I've come to the conclusion that love is luck and I've never found a four-leaf clover before. Luck is probably an excuse though, so don't listen to me. As a matter of fact, I'm just really hungry.
I think I'll go bake my chicken now.