The more banal the better at this point... As theirs was a secular love story, Familiar in it's shape to any modern mind. Yet, there had been honour in it's fleetingly elusive moment. Grounding stillness, peace, love... chaos.
I lost it, Her eyes look expectant. It's almost certainly my turn to interject with some node of encouragement. "His loss" This seems to do the trick and she continues on... Seemingly taking great comfort in my unfounded perspective on her human experience. Perhaps, Because as refreshingly unique as she had believed her love affair to be... It was in fact, A well established precedent.
Crap. My turn to speak again. "Just enjoy being single for a bit" For a bit. A loaded term. A life time can pass by in a series of bits. This bit and that bit, Their bit, And my bit, In this journey of bits that is life.
She's now seems to be unravelling a series of hidden hopes and ambitions, Travels, Hobbies, Career goals. A lengthy list of worthwhile pursuits. Which perhaps, is THE bit, The conquest bit.
Sisyphus and his boulder, Atlas with his globe, Pandora with her box.
Life's curiosities and never-ending search for more, for that bit, the it bit, THE bit.
And there's risk in that search for the bit, Gurgling drain pipes of expired conquest are quick to chink the mental armour. But surely a life without risks, Would leave no listening ears over liquor.
Now she's staring at me, Her eyes seems teary. Nothing seems left to say, All placations seems expired, battered and over-used.
Instead, I raise my glass... "To the life shit, the love shit, And all the shit in between"
I clink her glass, And we share, A knowing silence, of an uncomfortable truth, That this bit, is just shit.