Fake Plastic Love
How much do you feel like a child when a smile or the certain sparkle of someone's eye can lift you out of pointless darkness? Uplifted by a thousand butterflies, the world is your playground...instead of focusing on trivial problems, you can find the remarkable ability to enjoy the day ahead. All I know is, I would love to be a child again. Remember how it used to be easy to figure out emotions? Remember when boys and girls pretty much hated each other? "Wouldn't it be nice if we could live twice in one life? Then we would know what to do..."
Let me just put it this way: My music skips a beat whenever I think about her.
Too many days of needless wondering and boyish fun. I've gone through too many days of dreaming of the road, and sunsets far past New Mexico. I've dealt with too many mistakes of 'love' ridden blindness. Jenna and I were talking today about the uselessness of the word 'love'. Love for family? For friends? For someone? For life? The word is such a generalization of so many seperate concepts (and then each person has their own interpretation of these concepts; then everything is blown to hell). We're all so used to binding our endless lyrical descriptions in single words; streamlining what we really need to say with simple responses. How come our minds can easy dismiss hours of poetic portrayals of reality in short sentences, but we can never think of the right things to say? I can barely read my thoughts, let alone control them. How can we all be expected to conform to this time and energy saving manner? Are we criminal for allowing our words to run rampant and released of petty completion? Speak to the heavens like there is no tommorrow; sometimes there is nothing better moonlit confessions of babbling perfections:
I love you. I need you. I can't dream of life without you.
Dream one thing, say another. It's like stabbing yourself in the hand. Rehearse over and over again what you want to say; you'll lose it all in that one gasping breath right between catching their eye and saying 'hello'. No matter how hard you try, your voice will be stolen away from you and will be replaced with another stupid smile or another awkward facial expression. Ah, damnation. There's no escape from teenage-dom - must we all play parts in this predetermined dance? Every stuttered question with sweaty palms and nervous eyes? Every childish tendency? Yes, I don't think I'm quite done with being a child yet. "When you grow up, your heart dies." There is no love like the fake plastic love we write into beautiful sonnets and sing ourselves to sleep with; there is no love like high school drama. Don't you wish you could be stuck in a romantic comedy of some sort - where fate twists and turns and pulls the characters through emotional hell and back again, but they always end up happily together in the end? Somewhere between Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks?
Ah, this must be love.
So, pull up the covers to make a tent at night. Built a fort out of cardboard boxes. Bombard the pretty girls with water balloons. This one's for all the notes passed under desks in class - "I like you, do you like me?" - this one's for all the foolish hearts. This one's for all those school dances we hated but we went to anyway. This one's to hour long conversations on the phone about nothing - just to hear the sound of each other's voice. This one's for all the fake plastic lovers who threw away the words "I love you" like there was nothing else to live for. Yes, you. You and I both.
Let me just put it this way: My music skips a beat whenever I think about her.
Too many days of needless wondering and boyish fun. I've gone through too many days of dreaming of the road, and sunsets far past New Mexico. I've dealt with too many mistakes of 'love' ridden blindness. Jenna and I were talking today about the uselessness of the word 'love'. Love for family? For friends? For someone? For life? The word is such a generalization of so many seperate concepts (and then each person has their own interpretation of these concepts; then everything is blown to hell). We're all so used to binding our endless lyrical descriptions in single words; streamlining what we really need to say with simple responses. How come our minds can easy dismiss hours of poetic portrayals of reality in short sentences, but we can never think of the right things to say? I can barely read my thoughts, let alone control them. How can we all be expected to conform to this time and energy saving manner? Are we criminal for allowing our words to run rampant and released of petty completion? Speak to the heavens like there is no tommorrow; sometimes there is nothing better moonlit confessions of babbling perfections:
I love you. I need you. I can't dream of life without you.
Dream one thing, say another. It's like stabbing yourself in the hand. Rehearse over and over again what you want to say; you'll lose it all in that one gasping breath right between catching their eye and saying 'hello'. No matter how hard you try, your voice will be stolen away from you and will be replaced with another stupid smile or another awkward facial expression. Ah, damnation. There's no escape from teenage-dom - must we all play parts in this predetermined dance? Every stuttered question with sweaty palms and nervous eyes? Every childish tendency? Yes, I don't think I'm quite done with being a child yet. "When you grow up, your heart dies." There is no love like the fake plastic love we write into beautiful sonnets and sing ourselves to sleep with; there is no love like high school drama. Don't you wish you could be stuck in a romantic comedy of some sort - where fate twists and turns and pulls the characters through emotional hell and back again, but they always end up happily together in the end? Somewhere between Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks?
Ah, this must be love.
So, pull up the covers to make a tent at night. Built a fort out of cardboard boxes. Bombard the pretty girls with water balloons. This one's for all the notes passed under desks in class - "I like you, do you like me?" - this one's for all the foolish hearts. This one's for all those school dances we hated but we went to anyway. This one's to hour long conversations on the phone about nothing - just to hear the sound of each other's voice. This one's for all the fake plastic lovers who threw away the words "I love you" like there was nothing else to live for. Yes, you. You and I both.
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