For a word as simple as "love" was a concept that the world had warred to answer. It came to the point in time where a method to describe love came into view: spoken words, acts that justified insecurity, flowers and a chalk full of chocolates, wasting minutes to days, and of course the midnight's glow on an amorous mattress. Not that it hadn't ever been a step closer to knowing what love is, but it was never a true way to define it.
Now Fenton wasn't much of a thinker, as a matter of fact he likely hadn't ever been. But these revelations couldn't even escape the most stoned skull history had to offer, deflected or not. It was always a question he itched to answer, every moment he whisked his way to the corpse holding his mother down, in front of a television aiming a barrel at her head.
Now Fenton loved his mother dearly, there wasn't ever a time where he found he hadn't. But his true concern were her own attributes; was it possible for a mother to loathe her own child? Was he merely just an untested variable in an untested affair? A mishap of actions leading to their fates of consequence, another body taking up space in this lonely trailer? Tv dinners, snacking hours, remote rerouters was all she ever asked him for. Not once, in a day could he remember, had she worn a face of adoration, disdain, pity, or any of the above. Fenton wasn't something to regret or admire, he was simply just someone who was there.
Was this merely a result of love, and if it wasn't, what defined it so?
Now Fenton wasn't much of a romantic, the suggestion of picking up girls and watching horrid romance comedies never appealed to him. What was the point if it could all end in failure, as it had for his dear mother? But that was before his soul was ripped from his chest, when his physical heart trembled and the metaphorical one blew. Before the world had stopped turning on the wrong way of road sign, and finally retook its driving course. Before Gandra Dee had been all he knew.
For a passion as simple as "love" had been a complete understatement from what any dictionary could conclude. Just because Fenton could never understand what love truly was, it didn't mean it would stop him to.