Are any of us really naive? I chose myself how much I want to believe in things, so am I really naive to not believe in love? I mean, I have no clue of how or where Santa came from or why. But still I’ve chosen not to believe. I’ve only seen bad impostors at the mall and on the telly. Kids bragging about how they saw him fly away with his reindeer and about all the presents he brought. And still I don’t believe because it sound more to me that they are the naive ones.

And just like Santa, comes love. It’s something I see wives fake towards their obese and bald husbands at the grocery store. It’s what I see celebrities act upon when they chose to make a realityshow about their wedding. Only to let us know a month later, that they are getting divorced. Till death do us part?”, no. There is absolutely nothing on this planet that I could not live without, but my own self. Without myself, there would be no me. Without you I wouldn’t be any… more or less than what I already am.

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I imagine the red lips of Robert Smith as they sing “You couldn’t love me more”, but the thing is that, it’s the other way around. “You couldn’t love me less” is what people should be telling me. But then again, what if lovestories are the one thing about Hollywood films that aren’t complete fucked up hypocrisy? What if I, in my own film, am the reason to why the hero always dies after saving the world? That I believe enough in not believing, that my beliefs shatter?

Like Dr.Seuss’ “Horton hears a Who”, quotes: “I mean what I say, and I say what I mean”. But if I don’t know what I mean, do I know what I’m saying? Am I saying what I mean, by saying what I’m saying?

“The L Word”, to my lungs is nothing more but the “Lucky” Lucky Strike between my fingers. I’ve somehow chosen to not believe in love, yet I know nothing about it.