denseweekend

arguments

most advancements, progresses in the world are wheeled by progressive thinking, and because progressive thinking will be nonexistent without its counterarguments, arguments are essential in this world too, if you'd like to see progresses. but how far would you go for an argument, is it really worth debating. is it significant, and even in determining the value of an argument we have to argue because personal/general significance is so relative and prone to subjectivities. is it really important to argue what do you want for dinner? chinese takeaway or hours in a warmly lit coffee shop? is value of arguments too, really worth a debate?

labels

"never label people," you said.

striped shirt

what is the label of the striped shirt that you gave me yesterday? what does a label indicate? honey, tell me what that label says. why this label, not that one? labels make it easier for you to pick which stores to come in and which stores you can pass by, even when its glass windows say boldly SALE-- arial, in white, with one too many exclamation marks and striking palette of red in the background. why you pass that store, you say because they make lousy sweaters, with tangled threads dripping from their hemlines. my love, that is called labelling, but of course it is, because labels are part of business. what is life without labels, or are you just not allowed to label people, because it is rude, because you do not want to be labelled too? if only these shops, these shirts had a soul, they wouldn't like to be labelled too. but if they did not get labelled, you'd have to move in circles, rummage through piles of shirts in various colour schemes and textures and patterns and fabrics for the perfect sweater because you did not know which one would be less likely to have tangled threads dripping from its hemline. absence of labels wouldn't make your life easier. if these shirts had a soul, they would be labelling you too, your lifeless life and your mere existence, they would laugh at you in jovial, pointing their cuffs at your face. life is not unfair to humans only, it is never fair to any of the living, and non-living things.

i said, "i own a similar shirt in my closet, but with bigger stripes, thicker blue alternating with beige, instead of white." i do not know where the beige came from, whether it is really beige or tarnished beige, a progress from white. your eyes locked on its buttons, "no need to unbutton them," you say, so i didn't and i put it through my head, and like all your other clothes, it does not smell like anything.

perfume

because you are the only man i have ever dated who smells like humility, i did not expect to be welcomed by a tiny bottle of perfume on your table. checkered, like the plaid shirt of yours i wore the first time i lay a touch on your pale blue sheet, the surface full of creases. it smelt new, humble still and pleasant, never overpowering. it is like your love, and i will not impose any kind of doubt on its existence because i know, when you put a title "love books" on a memo listing the books i'd like to read next when they are about everything but love. i point at a book, unknown to me, except its cover page that says, "you do not have to say that you love me" as i put my index finger on your moist lips of garnet.