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It’s strange posting this as a married lady, but this girl exists in here too…

Soft like an easy chair-

my ass.

It’s just the mood I’m in right now, I guess.

I don’t write about love-

don’t want to write about it because it makes

me feel like a romantic fool.

There’s no room for romantic notions

in a hyper technologized world of IM.

The time to develop the intensity of feelings

and bonds of trust have become truncated into

smiley faces and empty and

quick “I love you emails” and text messages.

I say it so much that the feelings I used to have

when I felt it is gone.

The heat and swelling in my chest.

The flush of my cheeks.

My hands going numb.

Ears throbbing and mind made blank by an emotion

so intensely overwhelming there was, as

the alcoholics would say, the magnificence of God.

But I say it back to everybody that says it to me and

when I think about how much I don’t mean it-

it only adds to the emptiness I feel

about my everyday existence.

When I don’t think about it but feel how empty it is

All I want to do is drink.

Booze is no muse though.

It only magnifies the desperation of being surrounded by

I love you’s and not feeling loved.

It does, however, temporarily hide the fact that all of

this means nothing.

Nihilism is on short order after a bottle or two of montepulciano.

And whisky knocks it down that much better.

So love-

I’m writing about love and it’s new status as an apparition.

A ghost of what was and what everybody hopes to attain

Without knowing its true nature.

With no experience base of its highs and lows.

Because sans this understanding of the heart and mind

that relegated it to the dream realm,

the nether regions,

we all believe in reality TV’s version of love.

And that’s some real bullshit.

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