Sweetness

We cannot possibly be all the things that our lover wants us to be. We cannot match neuron for neuron, their meticulous heroes of fulfillment. We cannot easily exist beyond those depolarizing concepts of archetypal phantoms that continually conjure floating, electrical intuitions and dancing, dopamine substitutions.

These ghosts, arising from the molecular maelstrom of the mind, are never what we encounter; never the thousand details of reality. Yet it is out there, in the details, that beauty triumphs or fails. It is out there that we listen for the unique cadence that sets our lover apart from every other person.

What is that simple theme I have always sought in a lover - that singular voice in a world of dissonance? It is “sweetness” and nothing more. It is that basso continuo ability of a lover, at the end of my imperfect days, to remember that I am, after all, just human and that sometimes, just finishing the day still breathing - still alive - is quite an accomplishment.

- Just a peasant

Photo of fluorescent protein-expressing neurons from Duke University