If I don't retire my pen, I hope to say more.

My dear friend! Shall I give you an analogy? It is the same with love. A young man's heart is entirely attached to a girl; he spent every hour of the day with her, wastes all his strength, all his fortune, in order to prove to her at every moment that he is wholly devoted to her. Should a philistine then enter the picture, a man of some responsible position, and say to him:

"My dear young man, it is natural to love, but you must love only in a sensible way. Organize your day; some hours for work and some - the hours of relaxation - for your sweetheart. Calculate your means; and it is perfectly permissible to use whatever is left over and beyond your personal needs to use whatever is left over to buy her a present of some sort, only not too frequently - perhaps for her birthday or a similar occasion."

- Should the young man follow this advice, he will certainly turn into a useful member of society, and I should advise any prince to take him into his Cabinet; but his love is done with, and if he is an artist, his art as well. The Sorrows of Young Werther by Goethe.

I have never believed that to secure love, one must follow rules. All the more, immersed in love, I have never found myself able to even consider rules. I know it doesn't often come around, that is, the insatiable curiosity for another, the disregard for the outside reality. And maybe that's why those on the outside so often say s/he seems changed. There's no logic to love; that's the single secret worth sharing. I can't rationalize why I fell in or what made me fall out. Nothing makes you, which is why being in love is intoxicating, inexpressible, ethereal. If someone else influences a difference in you, if s/he refines time, than against all sense say something, anything. Love can never last too long, I promise. And it also is indefinable because it defies expectations. But I would like, at some future time, to try to be more honest and most candid because I do believe the sense that can be made of love through language is evanescent, and therefore would be valuable to write down and make more permanent. For now, I can say, when I am in love I believe living life is simple and therefore my thoughts are sensible. While I am otherwise devoted to a more solitary lifestyle, I become selfless and more comfortable with another presence, more eager. When I smile, my teeth can actually be seen, and if I catch sight of myself, the only thing I can recognize is a child - my naturalness, the very moment, the face when having no fear. It's strange, this contradiction, that when I am in love I don't want nor feel the compulsion to try to make sense of anything. And perhaps, that is what I am in love with.


But what were these but all the obvious answers defining the inexpressible, denying expression. My ambiguity could very well be an artful act to conceal uncertainty. Claudelean Musee the Screened Woman. It's posts like this that, in the back of my throat, make me feel fraudulent, protected, naive, not resourceful, boring. Reading me, I notice the lack.