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Love, Actually (or I Hate Dictionaries)

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Dear readers,
I hate dictionaries.
Actually, I'm an English major, so that's false. I get abnormal amounts of joy from learning what what words like "perambulator" and "clandestine" and "flossy" mean (yes, the urban kind counts, too. Sometimes.)
But the dictionary has no idea what poetry is. It can't define freedom. And it is absolutely clueless about love.

Take one:



...Okay, "constant affection"? Ain't nobody got time for that! I don't care how much I love you, I will eventually stop feeling affection for you long enough to go get myself some food. And maybe read a book. And what about when you squeeze the toothpaste tube in the wrong place or eat the last of the ice cream without telling me?!?! Does my irritation mean I stopped loving you?

We're done here.

Take two:

...Well, the verb edition is always somewhat better. But the whole"desire" thing bothers me. Like, I think lust and love are two separate wo…