Routine days and nights occupy my time. Habits and preferences set in their way. Like grocery aisles, polychromatic in variety. Like days upon days. But every so often you get a hidden pearl, unique and dazzling. Standing out from the mundane suburban houses. Far from the ordinary. Everyone is trying to escape the worst of themselves. People all the same, like bricks on a building. Crammed together like in the dreary haunt of White Chapel, where the elusive Jack ran in shadows ripping with his knife. Practically anything can set people in a panic. When it comes down to it, humans are just mammals. The sheep of the Western civilization. Cowering and flinching at anything unpleasant. Set in our ways, in our grocery aisles.

Modern Romance

“No words can compare to what just happened.” He says as he walks away.

She’s left outside her front door on a warm late June night, not quite sure how to feel.

Everyone always told her she’d knew when she was in love. It’d hit her. Just like how she’d know her first orgasm. But love was different. Love, for her, developed slowly, over time. And she didn’t realize the love was there until it was too late. And by then it had become like a dull ache. Everyone always realizes things when it’s too late; it’s a human flaw that we have yet to correct.

“Modern romance is dead.” Her professor says this in some discussion and the rest of class she sits there thinking and pondering this one sentence. How could he know? How could he be so right? For romance is dead. It’s fallen to the wayside in our brain-damaged, corrupt, unusual society.

She sits out on green, green grass picking daisies. She thinks of love as elusive. You only know how sweet it is when you’ve experienced a broken heart and salty tears. “It’s all a cycle don’t you know?” She tells herself. And yes, yes it is. Life and love have that in common.