Demolition Lovers

I don’t get it. Who in the right mind would rather sit in their room watching daytime talk shows, slowly slipping into madness as your thoughts consume you alive like a snake swallowing it’s lunch after four days of scavenging for the meal, while savoring each moment of the taste and the distress of the animal as it passes through its digestive tract, instead of doing something remotely productive or beneficial like going bowling with me and Frank? A psycho called Lindsey, that’s who and i’ve been mulling over her decision for the past hour. Frank has been telling me to “get over it” but I just can’t. I hate to sound like that fedora wearing guy shouting “not all men” while on his laptop in Starbucks, but honestly i’m the best person for her. I know her favorite color is the pinkish-red the sky turns when the sun rises in the morning in October. I know how much she hates the smell of coffee on her clothes, yet loves to drink her’s with two sugars and whipped cream. I know how her dream is to become a bass player, and how she wants a blue and white Steve Harris Precision Bass and works in that dingy Wendy’s down the road each day after school to save for it. I also know that she is completely and utterly head over heals for some other guy. I didn’t even take the time to learn his name, because I know it won’t last. He’s no good for her, and she’ll know it on her birthday next week when I hand her that bass. That’ll win her heart, if not I have something else in mind.

“Lets go.” I say mechanically turning to my roommate/best friend Frank. He’s usually immune to my shady antics, but today he seemed skeptical.

“Where to exactly?” he questioned, raising a lazy eyebrow at me over the couch that barely separated our living room from our kitchenette where I was perched like a hawk on one of the stools.

“A friends house. Come on.” I stare at him for a moment waiting for a reply or even a gesture from him that remotely showed submission to my orders. He doesn’t budge. So I swing my jacket over my head and shrug it on. Before leaving I look back over my shoulder.

“Coming?” After waiting few moments with no answer from Frank, I open the front door and walk down the grimy and urine stained stairs of our apartment building. I rhymically step around the puddles of mysterious liquids on landings and the occasional passed out person until I reach the main entrance of the building.

Turning up the collar of my jacket to brace myself against the cold, I reach Frank’s car. I pull on the passanger side handle and it opens just as I had expected. My legs tense up as I sit on the cold leather in his car. I tilt my head back against the headrest and allow my eyes to close.

Isn’t love crazy? I mean, it can just drive people to the extreme. Push them to and beyond their limits. Just for another person. A sack of flesh, blood, and bones that is viurtally the same as them or their own family. Yet some people live their entire lives just to hear the words “I love you” from someone special. Those three words, can sound so different when it comes from that one special person rather than a friend or family. Love can make someone’s eyes as deep as space, or someone’s hair as fine as silk, yet at the same time make the days long, cold, grim, and bleak. Love is a scary thing, you need to control it or it will control you.

Notes

Well, i've had this idea in my head for a while. here it is! comment vote subscribe!