Perhaps, it would be a great misfortune if I were to love someone.
I'll say it silently at first, to the friend I knew for 3 years. It will be a tool of commemorating our collective conscience that usually spanned over unintelligible conversation.
Something pained will lapse over her eyes, and I will feel reinvigorated because it means I will have finally learned to stop kneeling beside the altar of words only purposed towards garnering a laugh.
Then my friend will leave, disappearing under the night and her pillowcase. I would last in the scenery for ten seconds longer before rising to locate a new victim for my revelation.
A pretty one, on the inside as much as the outside, though the latter held greater value in this intention.
Oh I'd reckon she will look lovely carrying shock over my well-tested statement. Red mouth splintered, eyes open and remorseful. Yes, I would like to steal someone's beautiful features for a moment in this play of wounding misery.
I'd look anywhere, on the streets or through the contacts on my list, and I'd say my cursed proclamation a second time, smiling, as if to claim that this was something I had to live with on the daily.
Like a horrible cancer.
And not the horoscope variety.
Then when the girl's bones and cartilage were adequately moulded in the expression I found acceptable, I would nod in a serene way, and we would call this a moment of vulnerability. Serene would hum on our spines, and she would use a great deal of cooing noses in combination with her dissent.
Rugged satisfaction would glaze my wrist, and would become the lubricant to leave the premises.