Unlike last night, there is something. I take a deep breath and hope that everything will be okay. Despite my head telling me that this is a hurricane, my heart tells me not to give up. I’ll take your beating and still stand fast. Running from the truth is a stupid idea. Facing it head on, and telling it that it is not a truth but merely a misunderstanding is a skill all its own. When life hands you lemons, say to hell with lemons! because lemons are only good after a shot of tequila, and with enough tequila even the worst ideas seem good. There is no love in a cynic. There is no end except that in which we create. That is a promise I am willing to bet on. I have seen cynics, I have been a cynic, hoping the worst will occur simply so I have a reason to rest in the presence and comfort of pain. Forever are we doomed to rest in the big chair we call out lives. There is no way out, but if we familiarize ourselves with the fabric, then perhaps we can love the pillow behind our backs that has offered its own support. Perhaps we love it more than the chair that was there first. I hope my pillow doesn’t run off on me now, when my back hurts and could use some support.

There is no guarantee in love. No permanence. There is no promise of tomorrow or the next day or next week or the following year. There is no guarantee in love. There is no certainty that the person you love today will be the same person you love tomorrow. Much like life, there is constant change. People change, feelings change, time changes. There is no guarantee in love. Pain, as I have found, changes people. Pain is the driving force behind growth. Sometimes the worst pains are life lessons that are in disguise. Time is merely but an after thought. It causes the sweetest candies to become sour, the grossest grapes to become rich, and scores to change. There is no guarantee in love. Like the outcome of some sporting event, everything hinges on those last few minutes, because thats when the pressure is on. In those last few minutes, you either break or make what is to be. There is no guarantee in love. The tide rips away at the sands that make the beach upon which your soul rests. Eventually the sands disappear and the beach in which you are so familiar with deteriorates until the town-hired crew comes and dumps a pile of sand from some other beach all over the tattered remains. There is no guarantee in love. The bar tender at your favorite bar is not a slave, they will not be there 5 years from now [unless they are old and have nothing better going for them, then maybe]. However, the liquor behind the bar will retain its familiar bitterness. The sands will always find their way into your shorts. Those last few minute will always be stressful. The candy will always be sour; wines will always be rich. Pain will always be pain. Time will always be constant. Yet, there will never be a guarantee in love.