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I stared down the barrel of the lesser of two evils: the flesh-and-blood disappointment of a human man, or a life trapped in my imagination with a fictional lover.
For a few minutes, sometimes even for a few days, I could pretend that I was someone different. I could let go of the chains that shackled me to the earth and disappear into a marvelous something.
I was in desperate need of the pudding cups and numbing pills of a grippy-sock vacation.
“Not quite, but you’re getting closer. Cool guy. He put his clairsentience to way better use than your dumb ass. Hate his fan club, though.”
“No one considers what’s spelled out there in the verse. If no other gods can come before him, he confirms the existence of other gods.
“Being sane is so boring. All the coolest people are crazy.”
“If someone adores you for your chaos, what’s the best way to honor that love? If they treasure your rootlessness, if they celebrate your anarchy, if they love you as you are, do you think they’d be dancing in the streets if you gave up the very essence at the core of your being that made them fall for you?”
“Don’t make this weird, but I’m pretty sure I love you.”
“I love you too, loser,” she said.
“I am yours, and you are mine. And whether it’s in this life or the next, we will always find each other.”
“If you wouldn’t burn the world to the ground for the one you love, are you even in love?”
I used to say there was a special place in Hell for those who mistreated those who worked in service but was once again confronted with the turn of phrase. Perhaps I should start saying there was a special place on the bottom of the ocean, or in the Antarctic, or perhaps Ohio.
