While most of the bands I listen to are of a more or less melodic variety, there are a couple guilty pleasures that break up the pattern. Bullet Ride by In Flames, Gangrene by Mirrorthrone, these are scream and/or growl heavy tracks that occasionally pop up in my Zune’s shuffle, breaking up the clean vocals of classic rock and European metal ballads. Yet one band offers more than just a couple of tracks to break up any sense of monotony. Mercenary has, for the last several years, been a full-blown favorite despite having so many characteristics I should hate.

They are a guilty pleasure, really. There is no better way to describe a band that opens an album with a track named World Hate Center.Despite these Hot Topic song titles and the growling, there is a technical level I can appreciate there. Their song Seize the Night lyrically captures the concept of vampirism accurately, portraying it as a brutal, evil and yet mournful existence. The music matches, and as the song progresses it goes from a savage tone with loudly beating drums acting as emphasis on the primal beats, gradually softening until the end achieves a melancholy denouement. So while there’s a level of immaturity to the band, there’s also clearly a level of skill there.

Yet I never truly loved the band until I had experienced my first break up. I suppose this is what further pushes them into guilty pleasure territory, as I honestly cannot follow why they illicit feelings of “nostalgia” over sorrowful experiences. Once upon a time I longed for that thrilling flood of emotion you get when you are with someone you like, sensing that they felt something in return but, like you, being too nervous to push forward. That exciting feeling of butterflies fluttering about the stomach, urging you to throw up in sheer joy. Once I had longed to feel it again, that urge to reach out and hold someone’s hand but without the courage to just buck up and do so.

These thoughts no longer excite me, though. It could be a result of cynicism and feeling jaded. It’s been years since I’ve really had a good, long conversation with a woman, and I don’t really know why. It could be the setting. It could be the company I keep. It could be a multitude of reasons. But when I think of “falling in love”, I reflect on all these dating books and discussions I’ve read and realize it has become more of a game than anything else. It’s all about standing out in the crowd, being an alpha male of some sort, saying things in a certain way to appeal to certain instincts and natures women themselves don’t even know they have. The concept of a “thrill” is gone, and instead of building a relationship dating becomes a sick game of winning or losing. No matter what happens, there is always a winner and there is a loser.

Perhaps this is one of the reasons I’ve always enjoyed the film Definitely, Maybe. It doesn’t play out like the stereotypical love film. The woman the protagonist (played by Hal Jordan) falls for doesn’t require any game of sorts. The two fall for each other through simple conversation. Sure, any self-important pick-up artist could spot several “techniques” used, but the fact of the matter is the two fit because they spend an evening challenging each other’s perceptions, making each other laugh and stimulating each other on an emotional and intellectual level.

It also helps that Hollywood always uses attractive people for these movies.

Yet as the film progresses, any other woman Van Wilder meets doesn’t provide the same sort of experience. There are various other factors calculated in that influence how the protagonist and the different women feel, and each time he chooses to propose marriage he is justifying it with all the wrong reasons. The one woman who is meant for him required no games, no cheesy flirtations. It was just two adults talking and being completely honest with each other.

This sort of scenario shares similarities with how I ended up dating my first girlfriend, and how I developed feelings for a handful of other women. It seems that these opportunities are so rare, however, that wanting to feel loved just feels like a waste of time and energy. A friend recently told me that it must be hard being part of a Bible Study group where so many people are beginning to date or even get married. I feel no jealousy for I am just sick of games. I do not want to play a dating role, trying to convince someone I am worthy of their attention. I want to have it in the first place, and to give mine just as willingly.

So I feel no nostalgia for lost nights of flirtatious love. This brings me back to Mercenary and the purpose of this post. Oddly enough, I become nostalgic for heart break.

The lyrics may be terrible, but when I had broken up with my first girlfriend the song Loneliness seemed to be screaming and singing my very feelings into the air (or through my headphones, as it were). It was summer when we began dating, and summer when we broke up. Perhaps that is why I am suddenly so nostalgic, but for some reason my focus is on that wretched feeling of heart ache and sorrow.

I think perhaps, at least in my scenario, it is because no one “won” in the break up. While the initial stages of dating are one big game that you either win or lose, there is no such thing as a winner when you break up. Not when you both have feelings for each other. It was in this time that I fell in love with Mercenary’s 11 Dreams album, as half of the songs sounded as if whoever wrote the music had suffered a horribly painful break-up like my own. It provided comfort, and the simple words spoke precisely how it felt.

I am 26 years old, I’ve been single for roughly six years and I am nostalgic for being heart broken. I do not know what that says about me, but I do know I am not desperate to find another woman. Even after so much passing time, the idea of trying to find a woman just drives me to apathy. I have wasted enough of my time pining for women I would never date, and wasted many breaths trying to play a game so that I may manage to be noticed. It is a game I wish not to play.

If I do play a game, I’d prefer one where everyone loses.