Wednesday, March 16, 2011


Love? An over rated four letter world which drives men up the wall with women chasing them to the high ceilings. There is nothing fantastic about love. No major mystery which science cannot solve. Attraction is easily explained by chemistry. Intoxication could not be better defined than the Jack Daniels burning down his throat this very moment. Jack Daniels could in seconds strip love to its barest existence, which was in end effect no existence at all. Then why was he sparing so much thought berating the non-existent entity?

Black curls. Damn those black curls! It was those black curls which got him thinking of love. Soft, as if the clouds had abandoned the skies and surrendered to the temptation of framing her face with darkness. Lush like they had parted from the bosom of a turbulent sea. It was those damned curls which tempted him to go back to her. Those curls and those heart shaped lips. Just thinking of the way her full upper lip slightly over shadowed the line of pink below it made him want to kiss her. Again.

Her caramel eyes would widen, first with shock and then with pleasure. They would change to a darker brown as shades of desire rained down upon them. Thick black lashes would slowly curtain them from his view as she drowned in the temptation he created. He so desperately wanted to kiss her again. He sloshed some more whiskey in his glass and downed it one gulp. It did nothing to aid the searing fire building within him.

He walked briskly to the window. Outside the city lay scattered, its crazy lights blinking in a futile effort to draw the attention away from the madness of its existence. A lot like love, he thought. Scattered, with no idea of where to go or how to go, blinded by momentary flashes of that which could never last. He rested his palm on the cool glass pane. Vapors outlined the contours of his thick strong fingers.

He remembered the way they looked against her skin. Brown streaks of harsh strong passion blemishing the cream of her vanilla skin. She shivered at his touch. Not from fright, but from the joy of anticipation. Her skin was smooth, the kinds you wanted to touch forever. He pulled his hand away from the glass. The way he was thinking about her one would think she was the first woman he had ever been with.

In many ways she was. No other woman had made him feel like this. No other woman had generated any emotion in him whatsoever. They had been willing means to an end. The biology of the human existence making some moments of life a little more bearable than the rest. She defied science. Science would set a throbbing between his legs, she made his heart thud in his ears.

Was he in love? He reached for the almost empty Jack Daniels and poured it out in his glass. The answer to that question could mean the beginning of an end.