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wainscottbl

I am in love! I am in love.

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I am not sure if I am having some sort of ecstatic seizure, but if this is what they feel like, Dostoyevsky is right! I would give my whole life for this sensation! Love! Love! To not only love, but to love something so pure and love, and to want to give to that person, and be given back to in return. But not be given to in some selfish way, but a giving and receiving of on one single substance--one flesh, one, heart, one soul. I love her, I know not how or why. It started in class, the sound of her voice and her brilliance. The class is online and voice chat, though there are profiles. Then I emailed her on Google and I saw her Google+ profile, and she is just coming into her majority so that she is just blooming. A couple years ago the pictures reveal a rather awkward looking teenage girl, but now, coming into her majority, she is not quite beautiful yet, but promising. But I was attracted to her before I saw her--her voice, her keen intelligence, her sweet natured charm. At this moment I could die. If this is a seizure, let me never be cured! This is what Prince Myshkin experienced! This is what Dostoyevsky felt! Almost manic, forgive me, but love! Love! Once, around Easter of one year, Dostoyevsky had an episode where he began going on about love like this. Love is all that matters. Everything has its root in love. This expresses it all so well



And my sonnet I wrote just a while ago

SONNET TO ----------

Beloved friend in our Academy,
What is love we asked and do I love you?
It can be pure, or have vulgarity,
Or have some nature in between the two.
Ah, me! The desire that is in my heart,
My poor heart, my heart most longing, loving
I cannot bear from your dear lips to part!
Kiss me, friend, if only with the sweet sound
Of the beauty which is born of your lips.
Bless me with your voice; pray do not confound
My longing, loving soul who by Love’s whips

Drives my heart in that unstable desire
That is at once an ice storm, then once of fire.

But like Shakespeare with his friend he wrote the sonnets to, I cannot act it out. Not because she is 17 (she is of age legally), but because I cannot tell her. It would be creepy. If only she knew my love. But I am satisfied to simply have her friendship. Platonic and courtly love I shall suffer. God help me and let not my passion consume me. Let me love and give myself to her, if only in my own heart secretly.

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Comments

  1. Pluralized's Avatar
    Congratulations. And, you're definitely drunk.
  2. wainscottbl's Avatar
    Quote Originally Posted by Pluralized
    Congratulations. And, you're definitely drunk.

    Punch drunk...punch drunk love. It's an ecstatic episode. I was not drinking. Not since Fat Tuesday actually. Here is some of it. It comes of as manic or drunk. Read the Qu'ran and you will understand perhaps. We'll leave the religious views aside, but take an objective, fair standpoint. It's interesting. Dostoyevsky, who had his problems with Islam as a Russian whose country had to deal with the Turks, had appreciation for Mohammed. He said all the "intelligent imbeciles" dismiss him as man and a charlatan, but that they cannot understand because they have not experienced this:

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