On Love

My buddy has girlfriend troubles. He says she can be emotional and that's fine. Yes. But he's weary and last night he laid his thoughts on me, thoughts I won't share with you now. Not for privacy's sake. Not at all. I just can't remember 'em...

But we're driving down a lonely road late at night. Dylan's aching voice his pushing through the mesh stereo speakers: "Sometimes it gets so hard to care, it can't be like this everywhere, and I'm gonna let you pass..."

"Fitting song," I said.

Buddy wasn't aware. Nope. He said: "I tell her I love her, even though she knows..."

"She knows...what?"

"Well, I just don't like throwing that word around."

"You don't like..." I grunted. "No one likes to throw it around. Man! That word's not thrown around ENOUGH. Love's simple. And always is. All LOVE means is that I feel fondly for this person and they're changing something about my insides. That's it."

"I know, but--"

"No, no. I love you man. I have fond feelings for you and you have shaped my insides in some way. People should say that more--it might open a lot of heads. I love and him and her and them. The only difference between romantic love and everyday love is the sexual impulses. That desire. That trip is romance. Without that, it's just love. Most people have this Hollywood notion of love or romance or whatever and it's fucking everything up.

He was silent for a minute, smirking, taking the motor vehicle up a steady hill. Finally, he said: "You should write an article on that. It could go a long way to explaining why people are so shut off in this city, or in this part of the world. It makes a lot of sense."

"Yeah? Well maybe I will."

And so I did.