Manufactured Love

My dear little capsule 

filled with dreams, 

desires, and 

joy. The joy of 

breathing life 

into the neurotransmitters 

in my mind. The residents 

of your petite existence 

fill my world 

with color. 

What a wonderful example 

of human advancement 

for so much joy and life 

to be filtered through some-

thing so small. The blush 

of your skin 

enchants me. 

When I reach out for you 

and feel you slip 

from my fingers 

or fall I let out a gasp. 

To believe such 

unconscious material 

made of unfeeling 

things could make 

my soul soar. 

I’ve never 

thought of myself as 

much of a materialist 

or a hoarder although 

you change 

all 

of 

those 

things. 

You make me 

believe. I believe. 

Perhaps 

there is a consciousness 

to you. Whether this is 

something you possessed 

from the moment 

you were born 

or 

from the moment 

you entered my soul 

I do not know. It is 

perhaps 

a bit self centered

of me to believe

that my soul 

may have 

breathed life 

into you. To be true

it is you that 

has poured life 

into me. 

Though you 

are not really

the source of the life

that was breathed into me. 

You are 

but 

a means of transportation 

to a means of transportation. 

Like a russian nesting doll 

of the transport of 

souls and livelihood.

About the Author

Erica Bentley is a junior English major who writes about childhood, family, and emotions but would like to make minor objects even more emotional.