He had the ability to love, though just not long term. The capacity was there, however dwindling it was in prolonged use, yet it was volatile in its potency. Love can happen in a night, an hour, in a look. Maybe not deep-rooted lasting love, yet an intense welling of emotion that seizes you utterly in that hazy glow of euphoria. Such things are possible, he knew them to be, because his love happened-–just never in the traditional sense.
His foundation is doused in gasoline(the yearnings for love), and the slightest hint can result in full-blown conflagration. Though the flame burns valiant in its ferocity, it is ashes all too soon, thriving in its short-lived glory–-a blazing, evanescent inferno. An affliction or boon? Either way, it was what it was, and that love happened sparsely enough, it was all the more bittersweet in turn.
Worse is the decrescendo that follows. Sinking slowly back to boreal reality, these fleeting loves leave lasting scars. What possible long-term epic could arise from such a battlefield? Better to just ride the winds of fate and be swept away in the tide of it. When its there, seize it, knowing full well the consequence, yet risking reality’s scythe for the pure ambrosia of Amor.
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