You say you love me. Can you know what love is for one so young? Can you possibly know what wars will be waged in the name of this love in the years to come. A battle where neither of us knows if there should be a winner or a loser?
Should you think about this first, before you let those words pass your lips?
Will you love me even though your mother wishes that I would die young, or that I run off with that man in the garage who is nearly as common as me? She can only manage to speak my name through a small gap in her lips and I will never be as lovely as the last, or as good as the next.
Will you love me when Janie Jones points her magnificent nipples in your direction? She wants no unwritten contract of her own, only wanting your body squeezing her up against the photocopier on the third floor. Your mother won't like her either, but Janie Jones doesn't need to care about that.
Will you still love me when our baby rips through my body causing damage that will scar me for a lifetime. Will love hold out against the intruder that is of our own making? An invader who will steal our bed, only leaving it under sufferance to make way for the next?
Will you love me when I am failing at life? When work, children, and running a home have sapped me dry, leaving behind a slippered husk that cannot see past the next pile of ironing. When my idea of heaven is a cup of cocoa and an early night, and I have long replaced the satin with flannelette.
Will you still love and want me when my body is betraying me? Gone is the tight bum and firm breasts, replaced with a muddle that can only be sorted by some lycra scaffolding and an industrial strength bra. Will love remember what once lay beneath?
Will you love me when there is only you and I again? When our only aim in life is to gain control of the remote control and to decide which micro-meal we shall eat? Will love carry us through as prescriptions fill the cupboard and exercise has become a gentle walk in the park?
So will you still love me tomorrow?
16 comments:
Lovely.
Yes, moreso than today.
Thank you, Punkster, a kind of gently cynical look at love through life - but a truth in a lot of cases, I suppose?
Mac,hope yer knee is better and you are out on the bike doing some justice to yer Merkan roads!
It is better. But, I went to work today, no fun riding.
No, your bum's too big! *scarpers*
No sensible comments - hmm, lets see:
'Bout time you came back - no, that's sensible...
Are you wearing sensible knickers in bed...?
Much hugs and happiness to you from over here. Hope you're getting well soon - but not too soon - I think you need the time out!
John, you're such a flirt!
No sensible underthings at any time, Babs! And yes, taking some time out and really enjoying my recovery.
So good to see you both on the blogs again - whoop whoop!
Tough question...the best defense is not to utter the "L" word
Don't stop believing, Rita, I believe, I believe, I believe!
That was a great post :)
do check out mine here
here is the latest one
DO follow it :)
http://itsthewayilive.blogspot.com/2011/10/happy-deepavali.html
To John.g I speak as someone who has personal experience of said bum. I hereby vouch that it is, in fact, not too big by any measure and is - to be pernickety about this - pert and beautifully proportioned.
I think my bum is blushing!
Love this
I really can't handle how sad I am over him dying. On the bright side, I can always drown my sorrows in fan fiction.
Also, I just read this article in Wired magazine & this quote made me happy.
'Harry Potter revealed a mass audience for fantasy that nobody was aware of, not even the people who were part of it. We were legion, and we didn’t even know it. Dostoevsky once said, “We all crawled out from under Gogol’s ‘Overcoat,’” and it’s just as true to say that we all crawled out from under Harry’s cloak of invisibility. He made being a fantasy nerd cool. Or, no, that’s not quite right. We didn’t change. The world changed around us: Harry Potter made everyone a little bit uncool.'
I really enjoyed reading that. You now have a new admirer. Beautiful.
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