Trembling and alone in the Wal-Mart parking lot, you read every word on the package of Trojans you bought. You wrote me once you got home safe in your ’88 Camry and said that the expiration date was in 2008. I thought at the time that that was a weird piece of information to include, but looking back now, it’s all I remember, and only for the irony that they lasted longer than our relationship.
Our love was outdone by a box of lubricated latex.
It’s hard for me not to laugh at that sentence and lose faith at the same time. Possessions are supposed to be the things that fade on this temporal plane, and love is like a diamond: forever. Or at least until it is thrown aside by an irate ex. Forever doesn’t exist, it’s just a primitive misconception, like perfection.
Still, we tried to push all the fucked up shit from our past to the back of our minds and focus on the happy. Tried to be that perfect couple, strive for that non-existent perfection. But autumn breezes came and blew change, not kisses. I always get pissed when seasons live up to their connotations.
Fall is for falling out, and things starting to die.
In the spring, we didn’t see a rebirth or any new growth, just the same slow decay of last year. Everything else was starting fresh, growing out of dirt, but not dirty. Like there was no sin last summer to be reminded of. I hate it even more when seasons don’t live up to their connotations.
(get it? The word "Eros" in the word "Love") Now with more than just poetry and prose scribbles :)
