I think I was in love with you. There were times where I wanted to tell you, but I wasn’t sure. I wasn’t sure if I had been in love before, even during the times that I actually did tell some girls that I loved them, when I even believed it to be true. What is love? Oh lord, I’m not about to attempt that Shakespearian task. But really, love, it’s just a human emotion, something to do with oxytocin, and monogamous voles, or something. But, if I just say it’s a neurotransmitter, then I’m not getting anywhere. Pain is merely some form of neuronal communication, but that doesn’t make it hurt less. That shit is real. And so is love. I guess there’s a gradient for which someone can feel love, from the lowest form, lust, to the highest form, unconditional obsession (obsession?). I don’t know what I felt for you. I didn’t know then and I for sure don’t know now. It’s so complicated. There was that time, where we were making love after drinking all that wine, and I told you I loved you. But I was still inside you, and as much as I didn’t want to admit it, my thoughts were muddled by the libations. You, never one to really show your maturity, stopped me and said “you’re drunk.” I said “yeah, you’re right.” If you had just said “I love you too”, I think I could’ve really believed it. But you were honest, and realistic, and it was unfair of me to do that, and to be too cowardly to right my wrong while I was sober, take you in my arms, hold you to me, kiss you, and tell you that I was in love with you: “I’m in love with you”. Maybe that would have fixed everything. But I was too embarrassed that you had called my drunken bluff. Was that when everything started to go wrong?
Or was it my belief that God had somehow chosen me, given me some special gift, that I could never figure out? For a while there I thought I was the second coming of Christ. You quickly talked me out of that. But then I thought that maybe God had given me transcendent powers, powers to heal, or to right wrong, deal justice. You once again were there for me, throught it all. I never gave our relationship much thought. How could I? I thought I was the chosen one. I was having a religious awakening. All for not it would presently appear. Not only have I been recently disillusioned with the existence of a God who had chosen me for a divine mission, but, I have lost you. I don’t know which one is worse. I’m definitely more embarrassed about the former.
That whole period reminds me of that movie, by that pedophile, …erm…, oh yeah, Roman Polanski…called…The Tenant. God I love that film. Isabelle Adjani was so gorgeous, and so forgiving of this lunatic. That one scene, where she is taking off his pants, and he’s talking hysterics and falls asleep. When he wakes up, in her bed, beside her, and freaks out, she is calm and tries to calm him. She shows unconditional love for this maniac. She eventually convinces him to relax, and stay in bed, while she leaves for work. Even though she knows this guy is nuts, she leaves him alone in her apartment (which he eventually trashes). This, this movie so perfectly sums up our relationship. Me, a delusional imbecile; you, a gorgeous saint, capable of forgiveness and understanding of inhuman proportions.
You were my Isabelle. I guess I was the pedophile.
How did it ever come to this?
It all began that one morning.