To ascribe heartache’s function a fatality is forced to analyze the progression of their wound and this is nature’s cruelty at play, I mean child-like endearment, hopscotch design drawn with chalk on the sidewalk oblivious to rain clouds looming overhead. Because time moves forward, consistently. Never backward. Thus we’ll never contain the knowledge of future moments. Imagine the joy received from knowing that as a hopscotch design waned from downpour, another would appear in moments, drawn from the same excited hand. If we understood that then a lover’s kiss on the cheek would lose value and we’d refrain from washing that glorious spot to preserve the saliva deciphering that it’d never happen again…only to be embracing a drunken fuck-off in the days to come, perhaps we shouldn’t value the saliva with such aplomb. Maybe. It’s hard to interpret human interactions. I remind myself after each heart break that someday the universe will end. This nihilistic approach perpetuates a “state-of-nirvana” for me. I, cliché as it sounds, stare at the stars embracing their long journey to die inside my optics. If dead light has nowhere to go but forward, perhaps, I do too. We all do. We’re taught that losing a significant other depletes our own significance. However, there’s nothing I’ve learned from love that I couldn’t possibly experience in the future. Who knows. I know the past, it’s a fucking jumble of goodbyes, not-nows, stolen glances and drinking to forget it all. But for the moment, I think I’ll take a walk with some chalk in my pocket and when I see a fading hopscotch design, Hell, I think I’ll touch it up and put some loop-de-loops in there, maybe even a Fibonacci sequence, if I feel like it. Who knows what the future holds, anyway?