Our sense of aesthetic is complicated by our effort to try and capture it in words. I blame a lot of it on the concept of cheesy. I am tired of sincerity and honesty being something I have to be afraid of doing. I am too tired of being too cool, being too temperate, being measured because that’s how smart people are, a little less truthful than they actually feel about things, a little less passionate, all to beat that cheesy bugbear. 

There’s only one reason not to be cheesy and that’s because words face inflation the same way money does. They seem to have lost their value when you try to express something and that’s because everything is imperfect. There’s no sunrise so lovely that it couldn’t be lovelier. No mountain so tempting that you don’t want to climb another one. No breeze so gentle putting us to sleep on a bed of grass that there couldn’t be a sounder sleep. No orgasm so complete that you stop looking for a more intense one. 

There’s no end to looking further. There’s no word you can use where you won’t need a superlative sometime in the future. 

So one can’t be cheesy when one wants to. One may feel he or she is being sincere, but at a later date, you run out of superlatives. 

Why on earth does this fact not apply to everything, everything at all? Why are we limited to absolutes in certain things, in which we absolutely do not need to? Why isn’t there any inflation or deflation in our way of seeing things, why must we surrender to irrevocable truths? 

Why can’t there be a dozen women who could and would look as beautiful, inspire the same stop-in-the-tracks jolt, to me? 

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