\”And I have never been satisfied.\” — Perry Farrell, from Letters To Xiola
With anyone, with myself, at any given moment, satisfied, one hundred percent. But is anyone? There were times when I thought to myself, yes, I am content right now, this is happiness, I am fulfilled, but in retrospect I wonder how could it have been?
It is easy to make blanket poetic statements like \’I have never been in love\’ or \’I was never actually happy\’. Words like \’never\’, \’always\’, and \’forever\’ slipping into our vocabulary when we do not really mean them. The over use of the words \’love\’ and \’hate\’ until they do not have the impact that they should when we use them appropriately.
Falling in and out of love at a glance with strangers on the street and love becomes almost meaningless, and we wonder why we feel so empty at night when we leave after yet another one night stand. As if a night with a stranger could fulfill the emptiness brought on by two generations of emotional isolation.
