Vreti sa aflati ce este dragostea ? Cititi creatia colegului meu Badea Alexandru !
Long have I been puzzled by a concept which, I'm not so sure if I understand. Not even now... Perhaps I'm just a misguided fool, or perhaps I truly feel what I think I feel. Nevertheless one thing I know for certain. Love. Love is very rare. At least in it's pure form. Those who stain love with nothing more but physical lust or material interest or any other worldly needs are perverts. And those who try to understand it or to explain it are fools, forever searching a question without an answer. Yes, you discover what happens in our brain and in our bodies when such a feeling inhabits you, but you will never understand it. You cannot explain love through worldly equations. Love is like a drug. When you first take it in it makes you happy, no, it makes you feel high, alive. It's like you were dead before and now you are finally born. You want more. You want to have that sensation again. And again, and again... Very quickly you become addicted and you like it. You feel as if a fire has started to burn inside of you. A fire which can only be fed with love. Like a gentle warm breeze on a cold day, like a ray of light in a dark room, like a healing touch, it rejuvenates your soul, your life, your body. You feel happy and safe. You are tied to her. Your mind, your thoughts, your actions, your entire existence is molded by her needs by her happiness. Everything that you can do, everything which is in your grasp you do, just so you can see her smile and laugh and make her feel safe. You know that when she smiles you smile, that when she laughs you laugh, that when she cries you cry with her, that when she suffers you suffer with her. She must be beside you all the time, because even when she leaves for a brief moment the fire already starts to consume you. You miss her, you linger on anything related to her. A picture, an object dear to her, the pillow on which she rests her head, anything... and like a child waiting for Christmas you wait for her to return. You can't get her out of your head. You don't want to. But if you don't feed the fire, it... it slowly burns you from the inside out, consuming your soul, your very essence. Painfully, but gently, it is killing you, but as powerful the fire may be, it won't finish the job, it will just torture you until the end of your days, or, until it is fed again. You feel that you can't breathe, because the ashes from your mutilated soul are clogging up your lounges. You can't think straight, because you get mad with the heat. You can't move, because you are paralyzed from your surroundings. Food turns to dust in your mouth, water evaporates on the surface of your tongue. Your soul is darker then the elusive black holes of the cosmos. You lack the will to live. You feel empty and abandoned. You feel nothing, cursed to a life of sorrow and suffering. Hell itself can't be more worse then this, because you are prepared to endure any torture to have her back. Then perhaps this is what hell actually is. To spend an eternity without the one you love most.
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