Let me tell you something about love. They say love hurts; well, my love
killed a whole town. Only a small town mind, but a whole town all the
same. Love doesn’t just hurt, it maims, cripples and kills. I know; I’ve
seen it in action.
I assume it was love. I didn’t study the subject at college and as far as
I’m aware there isn’t an Idiots Guide, so just a guess then. But I had all
the pain inside that the poets talk about, and there was a woman and
there was trouble – lots of it. So, love would seem a good guess.
I’d like to make it clear from the start that this is real love we’re talking
about here. I wouldn’t have seen a town die for anything less. I’m not
that sort of person. By real love, I don’t mean the kind of affection that
puts smiles on faces, but the sort that puts faces in coffins. I suppose it’s a
lot like hate, except that I doubt hate has ever caused as many deaths.
What concerns us in this instance is a particular kind of real love – the
love for a woman called Laura. Love takes a lot of different guises, but
I’m willing to bet it’s never looked as good as Laura and never quite
managed a walk like hers either. Laura was the face of my love, and if
love has a face then I can also tell you that it has a cold, cruel heart, and
that, I suppose, was my contribution.
Let me tell you something else about love before you begin. It doesn’t
have an ending. It has a clearly defined beginning, but it never stops, not
real love. So if you’re looking for an ending – happy, sad or otherwise –
then perhaps you should look elsewhere. However, if you realise that cupid’s
arrow has a never-ending shaft and a poison tip, then read on.