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kissedbysadness's Journal
Created on 2006-02-28 16:23:21 (#9646139), last updated 2006-12-11
182 comments received, 150 comments posted
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117 Journal Entries, 0 Tags, 17 Memories, 0 Virtual Gifts, 15 Userpics
Basic Info| Name: | An Intoxicating Mess |
|---|---|
| Birthdate: | 1973-04-16 |
| Location: | Connecticut, United States |
Contact:
jpals416@aol.com BioFriends Only. ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
I spill my heart out onto these virtual pages,
and I don't want just anyone reading them.
"We write to taste life twice,
once in the moment, and then in retrospection."
- Anais Nin
Love is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have become so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion. That is just being "in love" which any of us can convince ourselves we are.
Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. Your mother and I had it, we had roots that grew towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossom had fallen from our branches we found that we were one tree and not two."
- Captain Corelli's Mandolin
I spill my heart out onto these virtual pages,
and I don't want just anyone reading them.
"We write to taste life twice,
once in the moment, and then in retrospection."
- Anais Nin
Love is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have become so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion. That is just being "in love" which any of us can convince ourselves we are.
Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. Your mother and I had it, we had roots that grew towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossom had fallen from our branches we found that we were one tree and not two."
- Captain Corelli's Mandolin
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 | kissedbysadness@livejournal.com |
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