Your Perfume Fills My Head

Love makes you do stupid things. There's no doubt about this. It makes you vulnerable, stupid, and fills you up with all the energy in the world. It makes you feel a 100 feet tall and invincible. And, in a blinding flash, drains you of everything. Gone is that feeling of invincibility and you no longer feel 100 feet tall or even your normal height but far smaller than a speck of sand. Euphoria replaces agony and just as quickly agony crushes the heart and makes it bleed out the euphoria until there's nothing but a dry cracked shell of happiness. And then the flooding begins of what ifs and all sorts of questions that I myself try to avoid because I'm all about progress and getting as much of it as I can get my hands on.

A lot of the stupid things I've done were out of the devotion and the love I felt for someone. A different someone over and over each time. You'd think I would have learned after the first time but it seems I'm a slow learner, when it comes to these things anyway. When it comes to these sorts of dangerous things, I just pile it on until I know I can't handle and then I just keep going. Why? I've yet to find an adequate explanation for this but I'm sure a lot of people (understatement) can relate.

I don't really know why I'm stating the obvious. It's really something that everyone has felt or will feel (again) at some point. Even the most detached and stoic person was probably that goofy grinning idiot whenever he thought of her and her kisses, or the silly faces they made to each other. Or her infectious laughter after a corny joke. Yes, the detached and stoic lurching figure was once a giddy giggling moron that had been bitten by a love bug*, or struck by Cupid's arrow*. More than once.

*You pick the cliche.

And then there's the other side of the coin where the the sights/sites once frequented together just point at and mock you. How she is no longer around, or how she no longer cares enough to hear your stupid jokes or legitimately hilarious puns. The stupid thoughts that flood once again. Of missed opportunities, what one would do if they had had more time, vengeance, convoluted fantasies, getting that person back. You know, the stuff I try not to waste my valuable time with because I got other things to do. And bigger fish to fry.

And then there's the ridge of the coin that few people seem to stay for longer than a few seconds. The ridge that keeps the sugary lurid bloodshed and the crimson and black carnage from spilling into each other and creating a bigger clusterfuck of mayhem. The area where one walks a line of peace and balance and satisfaction with the self. Where one can learn and reflect and reassure themselves that things happened because sometimes, though you might absolutely despise it, you just have to let these things go. Something about being free to free the self before allowing yourself to perch somewhere else with someone else.

Sometimes, people are so accustomed to the lurid sugary bloodshed that even a split second on the other side will make them jump higher than a coked-out kangaroo on a trampoline to the lurid sugary bloodshed even if they aren't ready. This opens up a whole new set of problems and elevates things so much that the fall will hurt even more.

Seems fucked up to even imply that one needs heartbreak but it's the awful truth, isn't it? The universe, for the most part, is a binary universe. Most if not all things are created with a foil, or a counterpart. Dark and light, for instance. Good and evil? Or good and less-good (which essentially fills the same role as "evil") and so forth. You gotta have this AND that.

You really have to feel the scalding brunt of heartbreak into order to appreciate kisses and feel something that'll genuinely make you smile. And by that same logic, you have to experience a vividly violent deep infatuation in order to put things in perspective and help you learn. About yourself, about your goals, about the world, about life, about the universe, etc.

Corny and lame but that's how it is.