I tell him I live
with the ghosts
of vengeful past lovers.
He nods and agrees
it’s a start.
— from “Visit”
I don’t do well without closure. I need to know why something ended or how someone is doing or what would have happened if I’d done this or that. I’ve sat with people as they’ve died. I’ve veins like stories, and told them it’s okay to let go, when really all I wanted was for their eyes to open one last time. To have one last conversation. All relationships – family, friends, lovers, husbands, wives – end with the either figurative or literal close of a door. But it all feels too similar. Somehow Vincent Perrone makes it familiar.
Perrone’s Starving Romantic (11:11 Press) reminds us that no matter what we are, “it’s good to be anything at all.” Even if we are lost. At least we are something. Until we are not. Or until we are found. Until we starve for love, for life, for the idea of knowing that when we are old, our hands held meaning.
We all have our ideals of life, love, and the pursuit of happiness. If eventually we all die, then what is life if we can’t burn through a paycheck in a day – especially with the ones we love?