Straight on ’till Morning.
January 17, 2013 § Leave a comment
“Why not hang those angel wings above my bed this evening?” – Al Baker & the Dole Queue – Thank God I’m an Atheist
I still remember that feeling. Love. It’s one of those feelings that never really leaves you. It’s always in there somewhere, kicking up dust in a dark corner of the brain. At least, that’s where I’ve been keep mine. I remember the feeling. The way it made me walk. The way it made me smile like a drunk who’d clicked. The way it turned up the light and put everything in a rainbow hue. I remember. I remember how it changed how I thought, how my brain ran, how I reached conclusions and the attributes I attributed to things. I remember the thought that stayed with me most. A lot of people who think they are in that situation have that desperate fear that soon these feelings will pass, or they will be left. Conclusions which lead to irrational thinking and actions, like a man blind with panic trying to climb a smooth vertical wall. But no. With those feelings you are not in love. You have affection, sure. But not love. Love is doubtless. Limitless in potential. No. The feeling that stuck with me was really a simple question and a conclusion that I drew from it. That question was “Why didn’t they tell me that love made you feel this good?” I mean sure, almost every play, story, book, film, and song on the radio tried to get this message across. But I didn’t believe it until I looked in her eyes. I didn’t know it. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe in love, it was just that it seemed plastic in art form. Insincere. I just wasn’t buying it. They tried to tell me, it wasn’t that I wasn’t listening, it was that I didn’t hear. So this is it? I thought. The opiate of the populous. That thing that lets you abandon that teenage fire, lets abandon all that angst and fight and piss and vinegar. The thing that makes you content. I used to think, in the before time, how can you be content in your 9 to 5? How can you just exist? Don’t you want more than this? As they’d smile on the way home to their wives. They’d listened and heard. I get it. Sign me up. Turn the blinkers on. Put those sideways slats over my peripheral vision like a parade horse. Narrow my sites, narrow my aim. Straight on ’till morning.