"Isn't it grand to be in love?"

She asks through wine-stained teeth, which lends an air in insincerity to her words. "Yes," I retort, fully aware that the difference between wanting and being in love is a chasm. Everyone wants to be in love. Yes its grand to whisper "I love you" into a woman's ears during sex but how often to those words ring true? How frequently do we say those things, trying equally to convince ourselves and her that those words are truths.

She wasted no time establishing demands. "You have to be monogamous with me," she says in her quaint British accent. Maybe she can smell the scent of another woman on me; either way she has given me few options. I look into her eyes and see someone in need of love; someone who thinks I can complete her and erase the pain in her heart.

She has been drinking wine since before noon and is wasting little time trying to solidify this deal. "No," I say, "I can't make that commitment." My words do not resonate with her plans. Thoughts rush back to an hour ago when she was insulted that I use a condom, even though we were little more than strangers. While she speaks of her lust for life, her behavior was nothing short of reckless; suggesting we snort cocaine and demanding we ride my motorcycle drunk, without helmets, in the rain. Despite her disparaging comments questioning my manhood, I think of how passe these activities are and how previous experiences never brought any long term happiness.

Love is like real maple syrup, once you taste the real thing impostors become pretty obvious. In the past week two woman have said they loved me for reasons and motives unknown. If only things were different, if only I hadn't ever tasted real syrup I might mistake her corn syrup truths for the real thing.