What a Mess!

(I. cont'd)

Until he no longer did.

Because that’s what people do.

Her scent, once intoxicatingly beautiful, had disappeared. He had gotten used to it and could no longer sense it. And with the smell, went his love.

And so they took her away, and she lived with them. For a while it was just them and Abigail, but soon there were others. Other girls that, just like Abbey, he had loved intensely and then discarded.

The replaced her with a copy. It was true to her form, a perfect replica. But it was missing a certain light that she had about her. Lineo could tell the difference. The replica wasn’t as easy to talk to as Abigail had been, she didn’t smile as easily. There was a strange distance between him and her, where before, there had been none.
So he went looking for her. It is true that he was no longer in love with her, but he still wanted her around.

But they had taken her. And she was gone.

He soon found another girl. She was easy to talk to, and easy to laugh with, and easy to kiss. So he made her his own. But it was different this time. After Abbey, he needed more. The thrill of connecting to another young woman wasn’t enough. There were lots of girls now, and he needed more.

All were nice. Most laughed easily. Some were even funny. But he needed beauty and mystery and subtlety and adventure. He needed romance.

So he left the new girl, and he found others. Some were attractive, some weren’t. Some were funny, others weren’t. Some were rich, some were clever. One was the daughter of a pair of dentists. One was beaten as a child and always had a look of longing. One had no father and loved her mother as a best friend. One was a champion swimmer, an ice skater, a belly dancer, a lover of cats.

He loved them all, for some things. He loved none of them, for all things.
But he did love that they smelled like summer, that their skin was soft, and their legs, hairless. He loved that they spent so much time getting ready. That they knew about make-up, and perfume, and fashion. That their rooms were always neat, and decorated with pictures of their friends. That they had stuffed animals on their bed and more than one pillow. He loved their knick-knacks, their esoteric jewelry, the colorful devices that held their hair in place.

But mostly, he loved that they loved him. He felt better with them. He loved their adoring eyes and the way they fit, just so, under his arm.

Every now and then, he would see Abbey. They would bring her back, just for a second, and she would appear before him. When he saw her, he’d move towards her, but before he could reach her, she was gone, again.

It was after these visions that he’d remember how things were. He would remember love. But he didn’t really. He couldn’t. No one ever can. He could remember feeling strongly for her. Sharing intimate moments. Doing things he’d feel embarrassed about doing now. And he would say to himself, “that was love. That’s what love is.” But he didn’t really understand, anymore. The emotion was gone. Love was like powerful taste or smell, indescribable (except in the vaguest of terms), different for everyone (yet somehow the same), and truly knowable only by those under its effects.

586.