No amount of passion could make of for the way in which our bond were malfunctioning. We were imparting form on to chaos to dress our silly childhood in new clothing. The age of cheap passion designated us as losers, so that we understood instinctively that there was no way out of what Hell we were creating for ourselves. Inflated egos pushed us to the boundary of insanity, but our lovemaking were intense.
Were we incapable of true love? Did we want to deny ourselves the pleasure of family life and the assorted things belonging to this phase in life? I had a hunch that she was in love with the idealistic notion of debauchery. And so we were partners for a while, sharing our most intimate aspects of our personality with each other, but totally devoid of any love. It was not that we did not desire love. It was more that it is impolite to love.
So our sweet embraces turned wilder and wilder, and what belonged to the abyss would manifest when we were close. Perhaps we even idealized suicide for a while, or to crash in the middle of a long night. To say we were dysfunctional is an understatement. However we never judged, but we appreciated the logic of reasoning from cause to effect, so as to understand what lay behind our ulterior motives.
Somehow we always end up where we belong. So our love was not love, but profound indifference and boredom turned into profit. We just didn’t have anything better to do. So we found each other in this void, and in some sense that was the same as love. To erase the loneliness for a while, while pretending that our sex was not the same as masturbation.