I’ve always known love was a selfish and canibalistic emotion, one that only exist if it can feed off more of itself. But I thought once that feeling was exhausted, something in the sentiment of a friendship might remain, and I might hear from you after enough time had passed. This was an admittedly stupid idea. Who can bare to face the face of their deepest desire and say
“Who cares? See you next week,”
How many times have I climbed the cracked cauldrons of affection and been told my princess was in another castle? The load time of feelings is terrible, and I’m not Mario enough to hassle 8-4 levels or 120 stars for a cheesy cake or Thank You screen. I can sense a woman’s abandonment like woodsman can tell if it’s going to rain: so silently stuffy it’s impossible to breathe, or have the nerve to ask what’s wrong.
"I love you," She said.
"Okay," The World replied.
"Do you love me too?" She asked.
And the World was silent.
"Okay," She said.