Passion of Love
Once, a foundling would grow up to believe that life is soul and both accommodated in love for his little mistress who love had never been fiery and his fagot of bones was not heavy. He had not enough marrow.
She confessed it would degrade her to marry him, and he eavesdropped as almost every inferior man in love would do. It was a lonely cold night when she was confiding to her nurse.
He disappeared, with that sentence, without any word. Only we know that that sentence was incomplete. Only we know he would come back, clean-cut but bloodthirsty.
In that unwitting dark night, she continued, with moony eyes: so he shall never know how I love him,…because he’s more myself than I am.
About the differences between social status and wealth, a woman in love is more idealistic than a man. It is really difficult to be a cool-minded lover. Love does not warrant any judgment of a person’s degradation, and this has nothing to do with sex.
She wedded with another man. She hoped to use his wealth to help her beloved man. This woman has no man-made morality. There is a natural simile ready for her. Love for foliage will change with time as winter changes the trees, while love for the pale rocks beneath may be nurtured by little visible delight, but necessarily lasting.
Now, how can a man criticize this woman? In great literature and valiant art, whores are often idealized with sacrificial love that eventually shies away a man’s carnal desire. He cries when taking her money to find another whore. He told the whore how deep his love for his woman. He does not hope to repay his benefactor, and he tries best to be happy.
Every man has a woman to be sacrificed, so that he can say how much he loves her at her absence, when he fucks with his other whores such as profession, associates, life-long hobby and his housewife.
May 29, 2009