come from not asking the right questions.
of course, you may ask of whom, etc. yourself first, the little red flags. don't ignore those rags waving bravely in the night. they may look like the white flags of surrender in moonlight and under the influence. we can be moved by ghosts and shadows.
i mean, questions always arise, i'm sure of it. yet we desire the 'perfect one' so much, we're leery of throwing too much light on the darkness. maybe we'll frighten him/her away? if i express any skepticism, perhaps the 'sought one' will fade like a violet, or break into a terrible temper and storm off to the next available bar to drown the sorrows, the lost magic.
so, we fail to ask them if they drink, if they have a husband or wife, to what kind of religion do they subscribe? and politics, never ask about it! do i dare scratch my nose? oh, god, what about the cheese stuck between my teeth? (a friend divorced his first wife cause he couldn't stand it.) my image as the highest of beings, can i let it be shattered?
hey, baby, you'd better let it be. sooner or later that pedestal will crumble. even the gods couldn't love very long, turning to human beings who had beautiful flaws. that's why in the classic movies the lovers quarrel first. they can't stand each other. cast barbs. scorns and arrows, that's all that shows up. until they get the negatives into an enlarger where they can be turned into positives.
every question you should ask, but refuse to, drives another nail into the coffin of your love. what if you can't stand her underwear? how about the graffiti on his neck? and the important things. does he/she clean the sink after ablutions? do you have to ask twice about the garbage? and that temper, have you tested it? will it turn violent? the sooner you know these things the better.
no, it's not hopeless. stay in circulation. i've just come from the flick about the young queen victoria.
right after an intense quarrel (they already married), out riding in a carriage, alfred throws himself across victoria's body to save her from an assassin's bullet. if the real couple half as feisty as these two, it changes my view of history. and i must admit, i left the theater believing in true love.
what better way to spend a valentine's afternoon? skip presidents, memorials, wars, and labor. this one should be THE national holiday. (remember all those cards you wrote in grade school and rejoice.)
