I was writing like a bandit stealing through the night, like a dumpster-diving raccoon bathing in Crisco by moonlight, whose eyes - as sullen as Zeus's third wife, Tracy - peered through the dark like the wise glare of a mariner, hell-bent on seeing this thing out like Jesus did his fate. And I was like ... Oh ...
Love is like a freight train with no brakes or cup holders and a host of upper-class passengers - passengers who are going to be upset when they spill their Chardonnay all over themselves when the conductor can't stop for that suicide attempt in a beat-up old Toyota with God knows how many miles on it.
Love is like roses that find out that they are prickly halfway to bloom, and like it.
Love is like some 400-pound wrestler mounting the ropes of the ring for a really impressive jump onto some already stunned character, only to slip, fall and scream out "whoops-a-daisy" and ruin his hard-ass reputation by curling up in a ball and laughing hysterically.
Love is like pastures one dreams of as a child.
Love is like the sweet smell of the honeysuckle's breath, as rich in dream as ever it was on a cool spring day.
Love is like a liberal hippie traipsing up and down Pennsylvania Avenue on a Saturday afternoon, patchwork jacket drenched with sweat and voice hoarse from attempts to shine a light on the world.
Love is like the boy who doesn't have many friends, but is satisfied.
Love is like a trampoline.
Love is like the pretty girl who says yes to a dance with the boy who doesn't have many friends, and who smiles about it long after he has stopped believing that it was the best moment of his life.
Love is like the pills Grandpa takes that make him a little loopy - if not a lot more fun to be around at Thanksgiving - and when he starts talking about his old college days, which weren't that long ago, he'll have you know.
Love is like someone who is always at the back of your mind, until one day he or she becomes your only thought.
Love is like the shine of an unused knife beneath the soft glint of sunlight.
Love is like tears shed for enemies.
Love is like handing the guy sitting on The Corner the $0.77 you got in change from that morning coffee at Greenberry's, and smiling when he says, "God bless ya man."
And when I say love is like all of these things, I mean love is all of these things. And more.
Faith, hope and love, y'all.
Andy's column runs biweekly Mondays. He can be reached at a.taylor@cavalierdaily.com.
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