Someone on the INTP list* asks:
If Life is like a box of chocolates, what is love like?
Tic Tacs
Upon further reflection, I'd have to say sometimes TicTac, sometimes Pez.
Love is like a wharf rat in a mist that smells of an old olive drab canvas tarp, the rat sliding through the midnight shadow of your life, part of a baby bird which fell from the eave of a warehouse on the pier clutched in its teeth.
A sack of potatoes?
Love is like a lit matchstick.
Love is a box of chocolates filled with little un-pinned grenades.
Love is like drinking a creamy refreshing milkshake through your nostrils.
Love is like swimming in a lake and then feeling something touch your leg.
Love is like buying a stock and then watching it drop down to zero.
Love is like the ebola virus: at first you feel hot and dizzy and have to lie down. Then you have trouble breathing, your kidneys shut down, and blood pours out of various orifices.
Okay, so I'm not a poet.
A fairly large segment of the population claims to have experienced what they call love, but sometimes I wonder if most of them just had a touch of indigestion and mistook it for love, or if they are so cowed by the frequent mention of love in our popular culture that they have convinced themselves they must have been in love once, or will be soon - it's a given. Having never been in love to the best of my knowledge, I am skeptical that there is such a thing. When you ask others who say they have fallen in love what it is like, all they can do is come up with flaky metaphors. I am not convinced.
Someone you can be quiet with.
Next: someone you can be quiet with over the phone.
* if one of these quotes is yours and you want me to put your name with it or remove it, drop me a line.
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