Love Is A Pot Brownie
Love is a pot brownie ‘cause the prospect of it excites you. It’s hard to find and it’s been so long since you tasted it last. All this time, you’ve been getting by on quick fixes – the one night stands and the spliffs. And they’re good for temporary relief but don’t you want the real thing, now? The thing that lasts for hours, the thing that lasts for years. When the prospect of it comes up, you’re equal parts nervous and hopeful; nervous ‘cause it’s the closest to comatose you’ve ever come but hopeful ‘cause you want it to work this time. Will it work this time?
Love is a pot brownie. To create it takes elbow grease and patience and if you keep too close a watch over it, time will feel infinite in all the wrong ways. You have to walk away, get some air, let it breathe. You have to stir it occasionally, gently or violently but never let it sit idle or the thing will settle, it will burn.
Love is a pot brownie. It takes you to another place, one where the music swells just right and the time doesn’t pass. It takes you to eight hours later, when you’re waking up clouded and wondering how and where and why. You’ll hear words no one has spoken and you’ll think thoughts you never knew you were capable of. You will feel like a piece of artwork or a piece of work-work, like something only a discerning eye could make sense of. You will be more right than you know.
Love is a pot brownie ‘cause it can leave a bad taste in your mouth. Sometimes it’s gritty, punishing, hard to swallow. Sometimes, it plain doesn’t work, even after you’ve done your best, followed all of the rules. It’s disappointing, when that happens. But other times, it’s tender and falls apart in your mouth; sometimes it works like magic. It may have been all wrong before, but this time it suits your taste buds, your senses approve. You will always be taken aback by how good it can be. You have a few bad experiences and it’s easy to forget how good it can be.
Love is a pot brownie. It’s a recipe you want to perfect. Friends and strangers will give you their hand-me-downs, their words of wisdom and their handwritten notes. This is what works, they’ll say, and you’ll say no, this is what works for you. You’ll try one recipe after another, and when you become frustrated enough you’ll trade rules for risk, you’ll eyeball it because you’re convinced it’s the only way to find the winning combination, the perfect blend. After some trial and error, you’ll taste the batter; you’ll taste his mouth and know that every ingredient is balanced, every note is on key. When you find the perfect recipe you’ll memorize it by heart ‘cause you’ve never been so high, high, high.
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If you’ve been looking for a chance to say something then this very well could be it.
I wish to God I’d had a list like this when I was 23.
Answer phones better than anyone else has answered phones before. Relay messages so brilliant, they bring people to tears. Turn the coffee run into the choreography of Swan Lake. Become best friends with every intern and every underling and every taxi driver you encounter.
I remember taking the pen and notebook from that woman outside the courtroom, flipping to a clean page in the book, and writing, JESSICA IS SAD in big, bold, uncoordinated letters. “My sister is going to be a good writer someday! Look at how nice her lines are!”