Why They Can't Write Love Songs Like They Used To

I spent the whole day listening to a Sam Cooke station on Pandora. Those who are familiar with what my friend calls “musical autism” understand what it’s like to listen to the same song or artist over and over and over and over. It’s like stimming.

Today I stimmed to Sam Cooke, Otis Redding, Curtis Mayfield, Mary Wells. Now I’m at Café du Soleil on Waller and Fillmore, sitting at a communal table. The barista is playing “These Arms of Mine” from her iPod, and the couple next to me is talking about their relationship. (i've omitted all the parts about secret fears, etc.)

"I just find it fascinating now that we know that when I say this you think that I think this other thing"
"It really is fascinating. And then sometimes you do this other thing"
"I know. I do it all the time. It must be really frustrating"
"It's not frustrating; I just find it fascinating for us to look at it. Maybe in the future we can try doing it this other way. Or not. This is really great. It could be exhausting, but instead I feel really like you understand what I think you think when you think that I think you're thinking things"
“I'm fascinated that you’re fascinated by this. And I'm not exhausted at all. I think that that time that we made love and then we went to the restaurant. I just really feel like there's no better situation than that and I find it fascinating that you think about it the way that you do."
"What?"
"Well you said you were fascinated. Why would you think that I'd be exhausted? Why would this be exhausting and that other thing wouldn't"
“That’s a really excellent question. I think it would be great if we could think about why I would think that you’d be exhausted. It’s not that I think of you as a person who can’t handle this sort of thing. I think that I think you’re fascinating and amazing, and I really want to express that to you in a way that’s also fascinating for you.”

Now they are comparing their "What did I accomplish in 2008" lists (yes, they both took the time to write them out by hand. and yes they are reading them out loud to each other.

I can't help thinking that if it weren't for the fear of finding myself as one half of a thirty-something yuppie couple, or winding up with a junky, a musician, or a pornographer, or the exhausting saturation of psychotherapeutic memes in our common dialog, I might not mind just getting down with some dude in a shanty dorm to the soundtrack from Dirty Dancing...

But I live in this world

These arms of mine
They are lonely and feeling blue
These arms of mine
They are yearning, yearning from wanting you

And if you would let them hold you
We could spend the rest of our lives talking about how you think I think you think it makes me feel.