#» now we're lost somewhere in outer-space in a hotel room where demons play ( firstfound )

[iorast]

Here’s the thing, Lolo. When you’ve been alive for as long as I have, you, ah, you realize that love–love the way mortals see it, anyways, isn’t as simple as they make it out to be.

Love isn’t undying. It isn’t something that just is. It’s kind of like, uhh, like a garden, maybe. As long as your garden doesn’t have man-eating flowers. Or, well, maybe in some cases, that’s alright too. Um. I’m losing my train of thought here.

Oh! Oh! Love. Right. Garden. So. If you don’t care for your garden, it dies. And it’s not just watering it. No, you have to pull weeds out before they suffocate your plants, and you need to keeps bugs and other animals away so they don’t eat what progress you’ve made. Of course, that’s easy to do for the summer. A lot of people can manage a small garden for sometime. But when the weather gets cold… usually, the plants–uh–the plants die. So you can’t… leave your plants in the cold, obviously. You need to build a greenhouse if you want them to survive the year. And, um, a lot of people…a lot of people don’t do that. It’s too much work. And, like, why bother with a greenhouse when next year you could just get a new garden, right? But–but if you like this garden, then you’ll go the extra mile to keep it, ah, keep it safe in the weather.

Then there’s things that might hurt your greenhouse. Natural disasters. Kids with rocks. You know, the whole nine yards. So when windows break, you need to put forth the time to fix them… and nobody wants to do that forever. That’s why gardens die. Right?

But, ah, alright, Lolo, so, you know what I mean, is… in the metaphorical garden of us… well, um…

I have been alive for a very long time. And I have found… it’s really–uh–it’s really hard to love something for that long. The only thing I think I’ve, y'know, ever come close to loving is my games. Competition. And that is–well, that’s just something that has always come easy to me. Something I didn’t have to work on. I don’t know if I’d still love them if I had to put effort into that love.

But then, you see, then I look at you, little falling star, and I realize that loving you is… a chore. A mighty big one at that, with all that, emotional baggage and whatnot. (Like, seriously, dude, you’ve got a load on ya) But I look at you and, um, I guess I don’t mind the work.

And I wouldn’t mind it if we kept this thing going until the, like, sun explodes, or something. In fact, that sounds like a fun challenge. 

A game, even.