My friend tells me about the butterflies in her stomach.
How her heart beats just a little too fast. Tripping over itself. As if love is a marathon and the faster it beats, the quicker it falls, the lovelier it feels.
She asks me if I get butterflies too.
I try to explain to her about the fire that burns there instead. How even if I did get butterflies they would be swallowed up by the flames. The ones that crawl up my throat and spill out of me.
She asks me if I've ever experienced true love and I tell her that I wouldn't have recognised it even if I had.
Because what even is love? I know that I've cared before. I know that I've adored before.
But love? Part of me wanted to tell her that there was no such thing.
That all love truly was, was chemicals and human behaviours and a desperate need for reason. A reason to be here.
People need to believe in love the same way they need to believe In God. They need answers that the universe does not provide so they provide it themselves.
Instead I smiled and told her that I didn't have a heart capable of something so lovely.
She acted like it was the most awful thing anyone has ever said.
She asked me, "what is life without love?"
I smiled and replied, "It's just life."
YOU ARE READING
The diary of Seth Alexander
Non-Fictionas the title suggests, this is legit going to be my diary. and yes, most diaries are supposed to be secret, but I have always been an open book. I like to pretend to be mysterious, but the people around me will all tell you that I am am someone who...
