There was I and a former friend of mine. He had come to my house and we were waiting for his bus to come by at the eastern intersection stationed about 50 meters away from where I used to live.
It was during a weekend, and during the weekend this bus line passes every 45 minutes or so and we were located at the shorter straw of the waiting gap.
He was bummed out. It was recently that the relationship had ended between his then-girlfriend (now future-wife) and him. I’ve never been a wordsmith, that’s not a secret, but I’m at my lowest when speaking at loud.
I cared for him and I wanted to give him some words, advice or anything this brain of mine would have considered useful for him to take back home.
I scratched my head both physically and metaphorically and spoke the words I now deem to have been the best advice possible I could have ever given:
“You should check out Daniel Johnston”.*
He didn’t.
Time came by, bent around the corner and departed far away from the bus stop.
Now there has come the situation in which a very dear friend of mine is going through a similar occurrence, causing the words you are now reading to rush through my brain and fingertips.
This text is formless, at times somewhat of a letter but mostly bullet points for a conversation I will probably have with this friend sooner or later.
You see, the point is the following: I do not write love songs.
As a slight dismay for my girlfriend, I tremble at the sight of the opportunity.
(I’ve rewritten the following sentence 5 times already)
Love, to me, is a wordless concept.
How and where do you even begin to define it? To me, It’s extremely hard.
I don’t think there is a more important thing than it.
Picture writing a song about the whole world. Where the fuck do you even begin? Give me a street, a country, a damned continent at the very least.
I cannot grasp the immensity. I tremble at the sight of it.
When trying to define it, you can aim the javelin in pretty much any direction and it will fall on a suiting place... of sorts. It will always leave something out. Like the division that results in the wolf fifth, it makes sense, but it's not quite right, is it?
Is love vicious? Malicious? Capricious?
Is it selfish? Careless? Unconditional?
Buttered sweet popcorn at the movies? Butterflies on your guts?
Bittersweet ending with daring sacrifice? The passionate kiss option on the Sims 1?
Beheaded red roses served on a heart-shaped box? The community of lilies and daisies growing on the last ever garden you’ll lay ground on?
Is it the gruesome clashing of the flesh? Is it the hunter? The prey?
None of them? All of the above?
Aim your shot if you want and tell me where it falls on, I’m way too overwhelmed to even attempt it. But in all of its uncertainty, even maybe ironically, there is one factual thing I can state about it.
From someone else’s words I praise as gospel:
If you’re looking for it, inevitably, true love will find you in the end.
*Note: this conversation was held in Spanish therefore I didn’t literally say that.