On my computer desktop, I have a folder. The folder is entitled “love.” Inside the folder are two items:

Walking to the campus library at 11pm the wind was hitting hard, and the cold rain was coming down. I was singing:

well see what you want to see*
you should see it all

well take what you want from me
you deserve it all

The wind hit hard, I remember, very hard and it became difficult to walk. The next two lines go:

nine times out of ten
our hearts will just dissolve

Making it closer to the library I looked up into the window and thought I saw a girl, a pretty girl in a pink dress rocking back from a computer terminal. When I came closer I realized it was actually a black man in a pink uniform shirt. I got in, got my books, and got out.

What is love?

Earlier this evening I told James love was human nature reflecting on their hormones, whereby they heighten the chemical causing "love" (for lack of a better scientific term to represent this idea) by ideal and "belief in love," bringing it into a strong metaphysical force. The universality and acceptance of this idealism strengthens it. By being in "love", it's not only a chemical reaction anymore; it is -by most accounts- a complete acknowledgement of both logical and animalistic human thought. If it was understood by an individual to be a simple chemical-induced emotion, it would be much less…

The idea of love is an ideal- not real in any concrete sense, but not abstract at the same time. It exists only as the individual sees it. If we were to consider an individual's view of love false, we would be both right and wrong: right in that they may have an off-normal perspective of love, deviating from society’s acceptance of what love would be; but wrong in that their ideal does not strengthen any bond they would have with another…

Raining still outside the window, with wind. Under a highway in Philadelphia, there’s two kids. The girl’s red hair is dripping delicate and cold as the boy wipes one of her bangs behind her ear and whispers how beautiful she is. The girl smiles and blushes so red her freckles almost disappear. They kiss!- how romantic his fingers previously moved to place a flower from the grass against her cheek. The highways create a tunneling effect with wind and it is not a very comfortable setting sitting in a room with a heater to the immediate right answering questions about love to a drunk man over an instant messaging program. He begins his reply and it starts appearing in the message box sentence at a time as he presses the enter key on his piano in her house beside the dinner table below in the basement me experimenting with making her smile. He tells me no one wants to say "I live to fuck." because it sounds too animalistic and primitive, so we dress it up in words of love, so we can call ourselves superior mammals bumping against the wall our hips screwed together kissing in my yellow kitchen. She pushes me into the cupboard with her lips and I have her ass in my hands and turn her over and look up at the stars on a dying night holding James tells me love is just justification and denial I ask him why and how long she thinks she could stay this night overcome with a fear of not telling her I love her enough I accidently say it in bed as she holds my head a certain way god-dammit he muses if I ever thought them ugly at the time reminded of Oochigeaskw and her invisible Indian lover beautiful and terrible at the same time. Finally I address her in my instant message box and hold her crying and retaliate with a do you really think this idea of love counts for everyone as he retorts back and I go for another round her holding me telling me not to get on that bus she loves me she loves me don’t let go it’s getting very dark inside this folder where it says love and the two items are just two Microsoft Word Works Processors.

* - Lyrics taken from Modest Mouse's Bukowski

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