How To Prove You Love Her
You can stand in the rain. You can stand in the rain for an hour. You can keep standing in the rain. You can stand in the rain until you become the rain. Remain standing there on Seventh Avenue, in the rain, as the rain, watching men get haircuts in the barbershop. The rain doesn’t care. She still won’t believe you.
You can tell her. You can list the reasons why. You’re pretty good at lists. You can list them over and over. You can count them out on your fingers until the joints wear and they fall off your hands. Replace your fingers with the items from the list and try to learn to write again, so you can make more lists. She still won’t believe you.
You can swear on a Bible. You can swear on a stack of Bibles. You can swear on a grave. You can swear on a stack of graves, specifically on the mausoleum of a family of Bible salesmen. You can make a belt out of Bibles and wear it to her door. She still won’t believe you.
You can have your love notarized by two notorious twin notaries. You can have the notaries sign an affidavit in front of a judge. You can invite all the witnesses to the affidavit signing to celebrate afterward at an open bar party. Have the party blessed by a Rabbi. She still won’t believe you.
You can have your love tested. You can pencil your love into a Scantron. You can scrawl your love into blue book after blue book until they run out and you have to finish on the bathroom walls. You can stab yourself with a needle, let some of your love trickle down like economics, fill a vial, and then order a full CBC on your love. You can let them CT scan the test tubes. She still won’t believe you.
You can kiss her. Kiss the words into her mouth in the hopes that she will taste that they are true. Press your red lips onto her pink lips like they’re Gutenberg’s platen and hope that she will be the movable type. She still won’t believe you.
She won’t believe you, but it’s not her fault. Love can never be 100% proven. It is just impossible to prove love unequivocally, at least not with the current technology available to humans. Luckily, it doesn’t matter.
Knowing that someone loves you doesn’t make you love that person—just ask romantic comedies, Indie Bands, and middle schoolers. She doesn’t need to believe your love, as long as she returns it. Maybe someday, logicians and magicians working together will find a way to ascertain proof of love. Maybe someday she will be able to believe.
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“Here’s to alcohol, the rose colored glasses of life.”
How do you reconcile the expectation and the reality when nobody warned you it could be this way?
One year, one of my friends received a phone call from two other students; these girls thought it would a good idea to make a list of everything they disliked about my friend, and read it to her.
I’m a large advocate that age ain’t nothing but a number and Stella should be able to get her groove back whenever she pleases.