The Yeba!Mailing List presents...

para sa mga masochista...

A Love that Bites
by Paolo Manlapaz

I'm going to fall in love someday. One day, perhaps from out of the
blue, perhaps from behind my back, some wonderfully precious lady is
going to grab one of those caveman type clubs and send it crashing
down over my head. She's going to make me see stars. For days I'm
going to be in a smiling stupor. Maybe I'll even drool a bit. And I'm
going to be in love.

This love is going to be neither cheap nor easy. It's not going to be
a plastic ring bought at the corner dimestore. It's not going to be a
brass ring purchased at some commercial mall. It's going to be a set
of diamonds on a ring of gold. This ring will not come from a
gemstore though. I'm going to craft it myself. I'm going to travel
through vales and hills, up mountains, and down chasms in search of
rich mines. I'm going to smelt the ore, fashion the ring, cut the
diamonds, and forge this magnificent jewel. It's going to shine in
the sunlight, glitter in the moonlight, and it will last for more
than a thousand years. And it will be for her.

Now I don't want this love to be bed of roses, painted or otherwise.
I don't want it simply sweet and sugary. I don't want it to be just
like peppermint bits or chocolate kisses.

I want this love to hurt.
I want this love to bite.
I want this love to be able to bite.
I'm not talking about love bites.
I'm not talking about ant bites, mosquito bites, bee stings.
I don't want to be bitten by some pitiful insect that I can slap away
or crush with barely a thought. I want to be bitten by something with
teeth.
I want to be bitten by a great white shark or the king of the jungle.
I want a piece of myself to be torn away and chewed on. I want to
bleed.

I'm not crazy and I'm not a masochist. I have never enjoyed pain and
I don't like being hurt. But I want my love to be able to hurt me. I
want my love to be someone I can fuss over, someone who'll have me
pulling out my hair in fistfuls trying to decide whether she'd rather
have the dozen roses or the Valentine truffles. I want my love to
make me chew my fingernails down to my knuckles when it's almost
midnight and she's not home from the office yet. I want my love to
make my heart pound ceaselessly when I worry about her driving on
highways inhabited by gas-pedal-pushing madmen. I want my love to
make me pace back and forth, wearing deep trenches in the carpet,
when it's 8:30 and she hasn't called yet. I want my love to push big,
fat, watery tears from the hiding places in my eyes, down my flushed
cheeks, off my hardened chin, and onto my clenched fists when she
yells the word "hate" in my face and calls me a jerk. I want to feel
the cold kiss of steel through my heart should my love ever leave me
all alone.

And should my love ever die, I want to weep for days on end. I want
to scream and kick and curse and hate. I want to feel as if my body
were being burned by fierce flames. I want to thrash madly about and
when my spirit is spent, I want to feel a noose tighten around my
neck, slowly choking me.

With my hands clasped about my throat, I want to feel cold, as if ice
had slid though my veins. I want to feel the heavy black weight loss
and love on my frail shoulders.

I want my love to hurt, hurt as painfully as can be.
I want to feel every bit of this pain.
I want to feel every bit of this love.

I want this because love that doesn't hurt is love that isn't real.
And I want the real thing for me and my true love.