Addicted to Love

In empty parking lots at dusk many people hide out in their cars, waiting for deliverance. Anxious for another fix. The location changes day to day, but even the hassle of it isn't much of a deterrent. All across town, vacant pavement becomes a lucrative hideout for hushed transactions. Where you might be known by a fictitious alias- or perhaps a pen name- like the former Mayor of WVC. When you want something you know you probably shouldn't have, you figure out how to make it happen. You make excuses, you sneak away, you ask around, and always know exactly how much it will cost you.

I resisted for a long time. I knew that a lot of people shared this hard-to-break habit, but certainly not to this extent. Many days I try to ignore what I crave or where to get it. Often I convince myself it is not something I need. Just a want. And on occasion, I find myself wishing I had never known how mind-blowing this little indulgence would turn out to be.

And then some days I just give in. I hold crinkled bills in my sweaty palm and show up wearing no makeup, ponytail hair and faded sweatpants. I disregard any feelings of shame or guilt or second-thoughts and just live in the moment. Because I can. Because I like it. I crave it. Maybe I even convince myself I somehow earned it. Deserve it. Need to have it. Blah. Blah. Blah.
Justification for gratification. Simple as that.

And sometimes it doesn't feel wrong at all. It feels like a hug. Like the unconditional love you fully appreciate once you know exactly who your real friends are. And that's where I'm at.
It's comforting happiness.
All topped with homemade whipped cream.

So now you know exactly where to find me sometimes.
After dark. In the moonlight. In a random parking lot. Around Salt Lake City. Near a painted hippy truck. Delighting over pure Belgian goodness.

-JB