I genuinely hope that this is how my wake happens. Seriously, someone’s getting a haunting if it is even remotely tame.
Paul Newman was a sexy man. If we’re honest, for fifty years he could have had any woman he wanted. At some point, this truth was brought to his attention. His reply was, “Why would I go out for hamburger when I have steak at home?”
In my humble estimation, that is real love. You find someone that eclipses everyone else. When that same old someone at home makes all of your alternatives seem like hamburger; then, and only then, have you found true love. They make you feel special, and hopefully you make them feel like the best thing to ever happen to the human race.
If, from the moment that you wake to the moment you sleep, you feel special and work to do the same for them then you have reached the highest plateau of affection and completion.
Screw Maslow and his Hierarchy of Needs. Love is the be-all-end-all of everything.
In the past twelve months, I’ve been a pallbearer in three funerals. That’s moderately disturbing. I should feel differently, shouldn’t I? I should feel mauled and eviscerated, right? This many people, this close to me, and that should be terribly upsetting right?
I just feel empty.
Sometimes you should do some really dumb shit; just to be sure. Be prepared to run, though. If she isn’t angry, her father might be.