by Michelle C

Created on: September 23, 2008

Love is never lost. It can however be misplaced, dislodged, interrupted, temporarily worn out or be transferred from one vessel to another. Love is best regarded as a notion rather than an independent phenomenon from the heavens. It is a physiological symptom of certain conditioning one goes through along the path of 'getting to know' somebody. A chemical release in the cerebral realm prompted by the pleasantries that invariably take place in those heady days, early on in any romantic relationship.

The intangible, unfathomable thing that we call love has been both muse and poison to the great writers of our society for centuries so it comes as no surprise that prose based on the loss of it should meander it's way into the satirical category. We have a basic need to mock that which we do not understand. Talk of love whether burgeoning or waning is best voiced in allegoric form. The satire is to love what George Orwell's Animal Farm was to communism.

Let us for a moment portray love as a boil of sorts for illustrative purposes. Yes a boil. A great big oozing, sebaceous skin lesion, the root of which is born right on the tip of your nose in the instant that you lock glances with the object of your affections. It bubbles away quietly under the layers of epidermis on the first few encounters one shares with a new lover, filling with the sickly sweet by-product of romance and before you know it, it explodes in full glory, becoming a fully fledged banner of your emotional attachment. As the relationship matures, the boil becomes an earthier, more subdued zit, which can be maintained by surprisingly infrequent bouts of attendance. What most people do not realise however is that this appendage is fully detachable at will if you understand the science behind it.

In terms of losing 'love' let us now consider love as a badge. No particular brand or design need be called to mind but for authenticity's sake lets call it a big red 'I love you' emblazoned badge. Now, if you have been fortunate enough to be socially juxtaposed in a manner that lent you the opportunity to stick your so called badge on George Clooney and then found yourself in the even more fortunate position still to rip it off his lapels and land it on, oh lets say Eric Bana, would you have lost the badge? No, the badge would still exist. It would just have, depending on personal preferences obviously, a better platform from which to broadcast it's devotions.

Love does not suffer from inertia. It does not go down with the sinking ship and it is never lost. It is yours to do with whatever you choose. If you choose to leave it on someone's jacket long after they have started to collect more interesting badges or add to their array of facial blemishes then you have given it away to an undeserving host of your own accord. It is not lost. Just think, if you were a wealthy businessman, love were a 200,000.00 sports car that you gave to your sweetheart as a token of your undying affection and she ran off with your golf caddy, would you let her keep it? The hell you would.

In ruder terms, you can nurse your pimples and preen your badges with anyone you choose. You can pin your trademark brooch to a whole host of suitors until you find one who deserves to be permanently adorned with it. Alternatively you can use it as a perpetual hand me down, to be temporarily given to each of your conquests until kingdom come. Love is not lost it simply migrates.

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