Love’s Infectious Disease

What is it men desire? I will tell you, to share love with a woman.  I do not care what any guy says about not believing in love, or that he will never settle down because whether he has just settled for a “quick fix” or in a two year relationship with a woman he is searching for the missing piece or himself.  No amount of brains or even bravado could hide this.

Men are gentle creatures and there is some natural occurring organism that exists in all women that will latch onto a man’s heart and coat it in her very essence.  An organism that leaps from one host to the other and latches onto the new host like a tick that digs its teeth into the flesh of its victim.  The small red spot that you receive letting you know you are infected has become the feeling in your chest.  A feeling that wasn’t there before and was put there, however unintentional, but you search for more.  Some men are more susceptible than others, and some are only “infected” by that one special strain of the “virus.”  I use the term virus, not to say that love is a bad thing, but rather to describe it as infectious in how it spreads to every part of the body and felt as deep as the soul.  As if you could ball up happiness in keep it in your pocket for when you needed it most.  The spread does not come from anything, but a simple glance into the eyes or maybe even the scent as you pass by in the street.

There is no logic in how a man thinks, nor should there be, in our minds.  We contract this disease without any thought of recourse because, even if on the most basic level it gives us a “quick fix” because she cures herself of us, we essentially have acquired our basic needs as a man.  If on the other hand we find that the two hosts have found a way to harmonize with one another we are left without disappointment.

Do we chase what we can’t have?  Men certainly don’t, fact is, men are not intelligent enough to chase.  If anything they are tricked into following a maze to no end and for the most part only to find a moldy piece of cheese which we will eat because we are dumb enough to believe that it’s the only choice we have, until finally finding the entrance to the next maze.  In this case, I think most will agree that we would be the rats in the maze, rather than mice.  Even the best of us choose to be the bad guy.

peace,

The Tom Shaggy