#8 That Thing Called Amour.

Ah, Love.

To many, this topic has revolved for centuries, through time and space, and yet, no one ever truly can explain it. Not even the most brilliant of minds can do so. It’s a time when two come together, and treat each other like they’ve found the greatest treasure within themselves.

It’s an emotion so strong, it surpasses out any other. It causes so much turmoil within a person, distorting their way of thought, and all they see is the one that consumes their thoughts fervently with a feverish desire. It can cause a euphoria so deep, that even after years of gazing at each other, their hearts will race with only a turn of the head. Unfortunately, it’s a word tossed around carelessly these days, and it causes melancholy to sink in within me. The perception of love changes with time, but love itself does not. It continues it’s path, destroying cold hearts and renewing them. I will not say that love does not fade, because it can.

Then again, what should I know? I’m but a young girl, not yet familiar with all the consequences and joys of the emotion, but it does not mean I’ve not felt. It’s naught but an opinion I’m slipping across the table towards you to read. I’ve been witness to it at times, and I used to wonder, what was so special? I had better things to do. I didn’t see what someone got out of lending out your heart, only to have it returned, shattered and with a faltering heartbeat. Tears and frowns becoming a routine following soon after.

I’ve never been in a relationship, but, the feelings accompanying falling for another, are constant and obvious. It’s a tumultuous relationship you have with yourself, fighting two halves of your own. In the end, when you come to terms with knowing that it’s impossible, that you are just but a mere shadow in their presence, and after it drifts, you think you’ll be alright, only to be told wrong by yourself. When, suddenly you feel like a dead man walking, only existing, never living. Your heartbeat produces not a mellifluous melody, but a breaking symphony. Images flit back and forth like a scrapbook with scattered photos. It creates a roaring river in your ears. Spreading featherweight creatures inside you as they seem to beat against the walls.

Suffice to say, I sometimes wish I could easily forget it all, but your mind never works that way, because sometimes, certain emotions cling to your like a thick drape of cigar smoke, suffocating you, throttling your senses.
But I digress.

What I’ve been meaning to say, is that so many young, earnest women wait for there so called prince charming. It breaks my heart, if that were true, I’d have to roll under the covers and ignore half the feminine population. It’s all but a pitiful dream. It irks me that they search for perfection. For, it doesn’t exist, we are only human.

But we try, for the ones we love, and in their eyes we see nothing but imperfection, perfected. The thing I would notice, capture the eye with such intense curiosity, would be someone who not stands out, but it’s something else, as if someone placed it in you to suddenly pluck the courage to stare them in their eyes, and smile wistfully at them, knowing you’ve found the one to fight for.


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