All That You Love Will Be Carried Away

I can't help that I like to be kissed
And I wouldn't mind if my name changed to Mrs.
This is one side, my conventional side
My attraction to tradition
My vintage disposition
My sincere architecture
And I want to cook him dinner
But I'm more indecisive than ever
And who believes in forever

Who will be the one to marry me?

A girl in the world barking up the wrong tree
A creature conditioned to employ matrimony
Crumbling continuity, I pick up the pieces
The ceremony makes me zealous


As the past quickly ceases
Fear from being neutered
I'm now prude, now defensive
Quickly I'm altered and tempted by new love only rented

Do you believe you'll marry me?
You might be the one to marry me

Back, looking back, looking back at me
I'm not how I used to be
Take me back, take me back into history
Diamond ring, tie me down, just like it used to be

Who will be the one to marry me?
Who will be the one to marry me?

I think about marriage sometimes. Well, I suppose "think about" is too broad a statement. I puzzle over. I have never understood the thought of committing yourself to just one person. Perhaps this is the result of the general applications I find indulged by others with the monogamous mindset. Like fucking mindless pod zombies. I want to take them and break their face in for it.

Do not get me wrong, I am all for being together forever if that is the Butter on your Toast; but, Seriously? And it is not that I do not want be accompanied. I just... I am not sure if I could commit solely to one person. This is not to say that I will never get married, or that I will never find someone - just one - who completes me so infinitely that I cannot bring myself to see any other; but, the likelihood of that happening is about as probable as my winning the lottery this Saturday.
Not. Fucking. Likely.

I think in the end it boils down to a point made infamous by Stephen King: "...according to at least one source I've read recently, all that you love will be carried away." Even if you stay together - it's not going to be forever. At least not with the terms people en mass use. It's only until this body expires - and quite frankly I find that fact so distastefully disgusting as to nearly acquiesce to the immediate urge to vomit. I don't want your cheap tokens crafted to portray a grossly defiled and corrupt emotion you attempt to pawn off as Love. When the brutal truth of the matter is most of you wouldn't know actual and true Love if it walked up to you as some bizarre amalgamation of David Carradine and Chuck Norris and Kung Fu kicked you in the jollies.

And how can you love someone when you don't even know who they are!?! You go based on the window dressing - and you want to know what, Sweetheart? At the age of 80 - man or woman - damn near EVERYONE ends up looking like Merle Fucking Haggard at best, and that creepy german Nosferatu at worst. Superficial packet of fucks. I have never, in my entire life, ever once thought someone suitable or even attractive based merely on their appearance. Now, do not let that statement confuse you. I said Attractive - not physically appealing. Tasty monkeys are just that: Eye Candy. They make your eyes happy and might fill your imaginations with entertaining thoughts.
Attraction is another game entirely.
Attraction is to Tasty Monkeys what Symphonies are to Wretching Sounds. Oh, they're both sounds all right - but how many hours can you spend listening to someone vomit?
And honestly, eye candy should remain just that - 19x out of 20. Because that is how often they prove to disappoint you. "No no no, don't talk. You talk - and you'll just fuck eeeeeverything up. Quiet time, yes, quiet time. No talkies. Noooo. Bad. Talking baaad." Eye candy should be treated like statues: you stand there and collect dust, and I'll let you know if it's ok for you too sneeze - and might I recommend holding your breath?

Everyone at some point is lonely. My moments are blissfully short, generally passing with a rueful sullenness without destroying my moment or even day. It is a human condition to feel isolated. We evolved as pack animals, and in this modern day with the supreme isolation technology provides our souls are hungering for that lost connection.
Someone told me you can figure out how affection-starved someone is by how many novels someone has. Fiction being a form of escapism and escapism popular with those who feel the need to connect more strongly than those they find themselves surrounded by.
I often wonder if this is a thought they themselves had or if the topic itself was the product of some research that they stumbled upon in their search of information for class. I would greatly like to read about this.