The Dump

         Garbage. Garbage. Garbage. Garbage. Life is not so much worth the time and effort consumed in deciding that love is necessary to survive. It isn't truly a questionable thing. There's a song saying it's all you need, after all, and another that says the world needs it now. Of course, I could sit here all night long and tell you the songs that permeate the world about love. Sickening garbage, is it not?

         To those who've found love, well, it isn't garbage, I guess. To them it's some magical fairy blessing that descended from on high and brought about the wonderful euphoria they experience for a time. It's rare that it lasts for a long time, but it's long enough to bring about the end of single life and the beginning of marital bliss and contentment and other such things that the single folks know nothing about.

         To single folks, I think, love isn't garbage, either. Love is some unobtainable dream that they strive to reach and fail to touch. Sometimes, they settle for a thing that is merely lost and unrequited feelings of passion...sometimes. But, then, they can see that that is the true garbage and the emptiness they face is destructive. If love manages to swoop in like a superhero and rescue them, all can be well. Sometimes it does. Sometimes it doesn't.

         Some single people never experience the garbage of love in either sense and they can go through the days with the intention that they are great successes in life, because they are not burdened by caring for or loving another. Their freedom can be an illusion at times, but most of the time, they are happy and contented. I think it is the same with those truly in love. While the illusion can exist, it is mainly truth and contentment that rules in their lives.

         I believe, quite firmly, that the ones that truly find garbage in those four little letters are the ones where love was a harsh guise of abuse or darkness or sarcasm or pain. I think that those are the ones that can see love only as a smelly heap they were deposited upon, broken and bleeding and weeping. They are the ones that look at those seeking love and being in love as foolish twits that can't function outside of a paper bag...or find their way out of it. Something cliche and out of date, yet still relevant to those in wounded and hidden pain.

         The loss of love is a mighty strong counteractive to the desire to fall in love, to pursue love and have love pursue them, even to open upon the heart to be touched by love, however soft that touch may be. It is too much, knowing about the banana peels and the coffee grounds and the empty chocolate boxes and the dead flowers. They would stand on the street corner and warn the world.

         But, instead, they hide their wounds and they walk with their heads held high and no one ever knows the pain inside and the truth about their definition of garbage.


Take Ten for Writers, page 165 Exercise 78 "The Dump", choice 6 - garbage - April 1, 2017