C Paolo Harrington

We never doubted the morality of our situation. We knew. Neither of us ever thought we’d be in it. But we were.

America has more guns than people. Americans have somewhere between 5-10 million AR-15s.

Why?

“I want to make a sex tape.” And then pauses. “With you.”

Remember me, babe, when you look up at the stars at night and wonder if I’m seeing the same ones. Remember me, babe, when you finally get to Rome,; how I promised to get you there and how, though you never knew it, it was where I was going to propose.

Finally, he speaks. She can feel his words before she hears them. “I love you, angel“ he says. “I never stopped. I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you. I’ve loved you forever…and always will.”

I am the guy that will challenge you. The one who will not let you settle, no matter how hard you try.

Losing whom you thought was your forever love is not just a breakup, and it’s not just a broken heart. It’s way beyond that.

We all search for love. From the moment we are born, we search. It is the greatest gift we have to give, and the only single gift we ever truly want and need.

I remember that I was impossibly happy. My heart was hers. All of me was hers.

I will love you on Valentine’s Day. And I will love you the day after, and the day after that, when the rose petals begin to shrink and die and fall off their stems.

You got what you wanted, but not what you’re searching for. Because you’re searching for life, something meaningful, and that’s not life – no matter how hard we try and make it be.

This feeling that you just gave me. It’s better than drugs, better than booze, better then sex. Except it is sex. Because that’s what love is, it is an angel, disguised as lust.

I can guarantee that for every five guys you see in the bar next weekend, at least one of them is hurting big time.

She was 10 and the hot, humid air of the Philippines was forever gone. The life she had known was gone. It was all gone.

To understand us is to make peace with the fact that we’re not like the other guys you have known. Not better. Not worse. Just decidedly different.

Sometime, in the middle of the night, as she looks over at the lump in bed next to her, she’ll know that my question to her from so long ago still stands.

Sunday morning at 7 a.m.  A November Sunday – grey, cold skies.  The light creeps through my self-consciousness. One eye opens, knowing but still half in the previous dream. Both eyes open. Confirmation now. You’re not there.