How to Love a Woman

Truth, boldness and cigarettes. The most essential of ingredients when circling love… 

She walks into the room and it begins to spin. She is magnificent. She is spectacular. She is extraordinary. There, for a moment, exists nothing but nothing but her. It might be the way her hair falls. It might be her laugh. It might be her smile. It might be the way she fiddles with the gold rings on her fingers. It might be the way she gestures as she speaks. And it might be none of it. It might be no physical act at all but rather something completely ethereal. Something that is sensed not seen.

And the room spins. You approach. You invent some completely tangential excuse to move into her sphere. You need another drink. You need a smoke. You need whatever it is in her sphere. And then you are next to her. And then you open your mouth. And then you speak. You speak without a preconceived end, without playing a game, without flirt, without a cheap hook. You speak a fact. “You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in all of my life.”

She demurs. She laughs. She blushes. Ernest truth is not the typical medium used to win a woman but typical mediums are not equipped to handle this particular situation. She is taken aback and you press on. “You are the only woman I will ever love.” She finds the whole strange. You need her to find it more than strange. You need her to find it surreal and so you press on further still. “I will marry you tonight.”

And now you are in the drivers seat. Love, true love, is surreal. It is not math-based. It is not strategic. It is a wild jump down the rabbit hole into a perpetually uncontrollable life. She stands there, in the surreal, not knowing what to do not knowing how to respond and you are the driver because you actually believe what you are saying. You do find her the most beautiful. You will love her. You will marry her tonight. She stammers.

You take her hand. She pulls back. You insist and lead her to where the air is a bit cooler. You allow her to breathe. She is used to the game of love being played for one night and one night only but, and again, you are not playing a game. How tired is the one night game anyhow? How boring? We know what it takes, we know how it ends. And if there is any skill employed then there no mystery in it anymore. Nothing uncontrollable life.

You allow her to breathe and she finally does. “Why me?” she asks but you don’t answer because you already have. She stammers, “Umm. Ummm. Ummm…” and then she tries to take the wheel. “Ummm. No. I don’t even know you.” c You either tell her this or you simply say, “I don’t care.” And you force her hand from the wheel.

She stares. She doesn’t know what to say. She has already played the logical card and it didn’t work. Logic is the antitheses of love and this, this is how you love a woman. By being decisive. By being bold. By throwing reason out of the window. By killing logic. By killing logic dead. And she will give in because, deep inside, she knows you are right. She will go with you and she will be forever scratching her head and then your only job is to forever kill logic. To smash it daily. This is how you love a woman.