Cushy Arm-Chair of Cliches

An amazing writer once wrote that love is a cushy arm chair of cliches, and everytime you say “I love you”, you are quoting.  …So I have been absurdly falling for this girl, Leah, for the last few weeks even though we have spoken a combined total of maybe seven minutes.  I cannot stop thinking about her…..it….never……fucking…..stops.  And I know how silly it is.  I know that I am projecting my fantasies on her, and creating her into this venus of perfection. If I ever get my hands on this girl she is destined for a broken ankle at the very least from tumbling off of this pedistool of unsurmountable expectations….but as always my emotions “frankly don’t give a damn”  about what my logical side has to say.  So I guess I will just continue chasing her through my head.

The first conversation I had with her was about my fish.  I was still in mourning when we met, because Tom (the goldfish) had just died–sad sad day in the Horn house.  We were at walmart in search for a new man of the house, we found a lovely red beta fish (who is still alive and uh…flipping(?) by the way).   Leah was the casheir.  We spoke briefly about Tom and then about Ben (that’s what we named the new fish).  The conversation was not unpleasant, but it wasn’t really significant either.  I am sure that it faded from her memory two or three shopping carts later, and I let it slip from my mind before I even reached the exit.  It was actually just yesterday that I remembered it even happened, after thinking about this girl non-stop for two weeks.  And now that I have uncovered it I am trying to figure out a way to erase it from existence entirely.  I know this seems absurd.  Why do I want to erase this arbitrary conversation?  Why, for the very fact that it was arbitrary, of course!  I didn’t even notice her!  …So five years from now when she is laying in my arms and I am moving a perfect strand of hair off of her perfect face I will not be able to say “I loved you from the first moment I laid eyes on you.”   No….no….just as I ready my ass to fall squarely onto that plush and blissful armchair we all yearn for, it will be yanked out from beneath me and replaced with a slightly less cushy chair (like the couches in motel rooms)….because “I loved you from the third time I saw you”  just doesn’t have the same ring to it does it?