the lost man chronicles
book two: the art of love

what i would do for love

Redefine what it means. Use my imagination. Make ‘em laugh, make ‘em sing. Serenade. Write a thousand (love) letters—I’m halfway there. Catch a falling star, pick a penny up, dream. Spin around 3 times and count to ten. Perfect the role of the fool (falling in love). Follow the scent of a woman simply to see where it leads me, the farther astray, the better. Wait. Listen. Laugh. Buy rings and other shiny things for no apparent reason. Understand that the heart has its reasons, which reason does not understand. Call. Kiss. Miss. Make time. Take time by the horns and make it ours, churning hours from a stream of minutes, turning moments into creamy immemorial. Carve names into trees. Dance to the music it (love) plays for me. Yearn, learn, pine again. Be partial. Make tea. Make love—on the doorstep, on the kitchen floor, blind (folded), at dusk, at dawn, from behind, on the lawn, on a whim, soaked in sin, all while soaking in gin (and a drop of vermouth), and any other vice this virtue (love) would have me entertain. Explain—nothing. Lie—still, down, and relish every stolen moment it buys me. Make treasure out of things others throw away. Cut out paper hearts. Don’t buy greeting cards—make them, and write inside till you run out of room. Create collages. Experiment. Get giddy. Never give up. Fly. Jump. Dive. Yell “I’m alive!” sigh, more often than one can bear. Tear out words and pictures, paste them, and then send them to her. Make a wish—take action to make it true. Plan a clandestine rendezvous. Turn off the ringer. Stay home. Appreciate. Salivate.

the art of living the art of living the beginning the art of love the list

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