I’m going to trust some part of my body on this one. They say always trust your heart. I have no idea who they are. Nowadays, I don’t trust my heart for shit, in fact, most of the time he’s kind of an idiot. Maybe I need a transplant. Will they do transplants for 39-year-old, healthy hearts? If you watch enough movies, hearts that are meant to be together will find each other no matter its human host. I don’t claim to understand the chemistry that brings two people together. I don’t think chemistry even understands that chemistry. In the past, I’ve always blamed my head for over-thinking everything or blamed my dick for over-fucking everything. I’ve never blamed my heart. He’s always been the innocent in this game, acting on only pure and genuine feelings. He’s head over heels in love or he’s aching, clutching a bottle of paint thinner. There’s no gray area with him. He’s a king. He’s a martyr. I’ve always thought that’s how we work, or at least I work. Maybe all this time he’s been staying up late doing shots of bottom shelf whiskey.
I should hit the rewind button. No. You know what? I’m hitting the fast forward button. Tomorrow, I’m doing something dumb. I mean dumb on an a epic scale. I don’t want to give it away, so now hitting rewind. I know, this feels like trying to find that thirty seconds of a song, three minutes in, on a 1986 Casio boombox. Sometimes that hard to find part is the sweetest. You know that part. That inexplicable moment of the song that grabs and you and throws you against the wall. Do you not know that part? Do you not have a song like that? Surely, you must. I know I’m not the only one here. Oh, you need an example. Ok. The instrumental that happens at 3:06 in The Cure’s, A Letter To Elise makes me cry. I mean every time. I can’t tell you why it does? It makes no sense at all. It’s just sounds. Sound is beautiful sometimes. I know, most of the time it isn’t, but sometimes it is everything.
You think I’m not going to get to the dumb event of epic proportions. It’s this era of instant gratification. You have to know immediately. Don’t you? You want to Google the end of this story. I know you do. Hell, I want to. I want to find out how this ends. The problem is, it doesn’t work like that. You know why it doesn’t work like that? It’s because a woman is involved. You know that story never starts or ends where it should. It starts 3:06 into the song, and makes you cry.