…comes in different forms:
good music, bad licks, burnt hotdogs, room temperature Red Horse beer, ammoniacal pool water, velocity 119 snuffles panning left to right, Jack Daniels, kare-kare, dad bods, or grounded microphones. Love may commence even in a snoozy state and can hit anyone in a blink of an inebriated eye. Love may take a break, but will surely resurface in a juncture or through an unexpected catalyst. It can be puked in the evening and be a part of your omelette afterwards. Love can be forced. It can be achieved after some struggle. It helps a person hit pay dirt. Love comes with regrets if there’s not enough organics. Love means transferring from a threesome room to Marlboro County. Love means leaving your wallet and mobile phone locked in the dresser drawer. Love means not-forgetting your silymarin capsules at home. Love means loosening yourself and dipping in the pool without your swim shorts. Love is a juggernaut. Love means using gravity to get the trapped water out of your ears. Love can be the vegan sisig but not the vegan litid. Love means not staying overnight because of daddy duties. Love means making a sudden escape to find more love outside Loreland Farm Resort. Because love is overwhelming. Love is consuming. Love is not hydrophobic. Love is 7 ft. deep. Love knows no swimming. Love knows no diving. But love can float with a lifebouy. It has weight. It has volume. It has formulas. Love means understanding the equations. Love means accepting your bed-mate’s pesky fingers. Love means Arnie in walwal-mode. Love means wasting nothing but time. Love means trusting Waze for a Minute Burger joint somewhere in Rizal. Love means “Someday My Prince Will Come” in five-eight. Love means laughing with a blue tongue. Love is the HR slash policewoman slash facilitator. Love is running back in the room because you can’t fight this feeling anymore.
Love can make you sick. Love can cure hangovers. Love is attack, decay, sustain, release. Love is the P25 palamig. Love is the sapid balot and penoy. Love means hating that asshole hitcher in your car. Love means desiring to ditch the stupid passenger/s. Love can make you feel you are playing someone. Love is realizing you are the one being played. Love is the used Trust condom. Love is the flavored polvoron. Love is the files inside the flash drive.
Love is not faithful. Love is loyal. Love moves in scientific ways. Love is in the VTA. Love flows inside our heads. Love is not the blood that the heart pumps. But it is the pseudo-waterfalls in the private pool. Love is hidden in Magsy’s wool.
Love is a magic trick explained. It is not divine. It is not choosy. It is not planned. It is wrong timing, mostly.
Love can always be defined. But can never be denied.