Rinoa
05-28-2002, 07:42 AM
<font face="verdana" size="1">It is what so many people seem to search for throughout their lives. Their true love. Young women read Romeo and Juliet and sigh in despair because it seems that their Romeo never comes below their balcony. Maybe some people never find that kind of love --passionate and unconditional --love that overcomes every barrier. Some people even believe that kind of love doesn't really exist. I wish I could believe that, too.
But unfortunately it isn't so. I have so strong evidence that I have to believe. Because a love like that touched me once, very deep, and then after a while left me breathing without air. I wish I could at least claim that I'm happy I was able to feel it all even for a while. But I'm not. I rather would be ignorant of its existence. Sometimes ignorance truly is a bliss.
It was beautiful, that is true. It was greater than life, it could have been greater that death... but it left me completely and utterly broken. It tore me into pieces slowly, it unmade everything in me and replaced it all with something new, only to take it away from me and leave me empty and unable to ever be whole again. It is still there, a knife eternally turning in the deep wound it made.
Never I want anything to touch me even closely as deep as that love did. Never I want to feel that much pain again. Never...
"Love, art thou sweet? Then bitter death must be:
Love, thou art bitter, sweet is death to me.
O Love, if death be sweeter, let me die."
(Tennyson's Lancelot and Elaine)
� 2001 --Lysa
But unfortunately it isn't so. I have so strong evidence that I have to believe. Because a love like that touched me once, very deep, and then after a while left me breathing without air. I wish I could at least claim that I'm happy I was able to feel it all even for a while. But I'm not. I rather would be ignorant of its existence. Sometimes ignorance truly is a bliss.
It was beautiful, that is true. It was greater than life, it could have been greater that death... but it left me completely and utterly broken. It tore me into pieces slowly, it unmade everything in me and replaced it all with something new, only to take it away from me and leave me empty and unable to ever be whole again. It is still there, a knife eternally turning in the deep wound it made.
Never I want anything to touch me even closely as deep as that love did. Never I want to feel that much pain again. Never...
"Love, art thou sweet? Then bitter death must be:
Love, thou art bitter, sweet is death to me.
O Love, if death be sweeter, let me die."
(Tennyson's Lancelot and Elaine)
� 2001 --Lysa
