Let the more valiant person claim to know the ways in which Love has changed, because Love never mutates.
See, though inexplicable and inexhaustible, Love is reasonable and finite –blissful and melancholic. Did you know that scientist have, in fact, confirmed that love is as addicting as cocaine! Love, someone said, is the opium of the masses. It is at the epicenter of our ethos and wildly swerves in the profane. Love is existence. Love is lust, period. Love is. Period. You need not water it to make it grow; you need not wait to see its beauty. Like a cigarette, Love burns quickly; sometimes, Love too burns slow. Love is the exhaustion of words. Love can be found at my fingertips, in her palm, and in the soul of your feet, search. Love is body and cerebral. Love.
Love. Who knows what Love is anyway?
As such, neither the cell phone nor the Internet influences Love. Love never mutates. Yes, Love is as fluid as dreams – it exposes itself to hippies and to jingoist alike. No, Love is not less ‘accessible’ to computerless folks – Love is not more corporeal in the West than in the East. ‘Love is Lovers lying, naked, in the sun.’
Love. Who knows what Love is anyway?
El amour no tiene lengua o kultura. Love’s authentic and fraudulent. Love ends and ____. Love takes work. Love is that coinciding sense of stillness and mania brought on by his presence. Love is the poison in her lips that jolts the soul out of the body and into the ultramundane. Note: Love is a beyond control. Love is a ritual, at times spiritual, at times not. Love moves, unhampered to human conditions: I have met Cupid, and Cupid is Black and white, male and female, gay and straight, Latino and Chinese, Muslim & Christian & Atheist – Cupid is God. But in the end, Love aims to make masochist of all.
Love. Who knows what love is anyway?
I love, I’ve loved, just as I am sure that I have been in love, but I admit to not knowing love. It is a thing, not subject to definitions.
Therefore, though it is true that the world in which Love and we reside is in perpetual change, the only accurate statement that one can make about love, like truth, is that it existed during the AIDS epidemic, it exited for the Hippies, it existed much before them, and it exists, somewhere, today.
