I wish to fall in love so that I may take a vacation from seeing.
Sometimes I look for words. Other times they look for me.
It is the sort of romance that would compel me to write a sonnet if I could only find the words.
My heart holds within two friends who cannot live without the other: one feels the joy of life, the other its agony.
“The stars do not brush against us, thus they conserve their splendor.” (Baltasar Gracian)
Words of wisdom to be heeded by Romantics everywhere.
Our most glorious portrayals of love are frequently written by those whose love was unrequited. For longing enriches imagination while having lends itself to living.
It is the vestiges of things elsewhere that most attract me to life.
Almost everything the world has to offer leaves me floored. I cannot love by halves. I cannot see beauty without being moved to tears. I cannot feel understood without overwhelming gratitude. I cannot experience a work of art without ebullience. Life comes to me as a torrential downpour–I tilt my head back, open my arms and allow myself to be soaked.
I hasten a retreat into imagination not because I despise the rain, but to catch my breath, soothe my heart and recover my childlike eyes.