the great thing about traveling the great void of the ether is that you often bump into someone to yearn to, to confess, to profess the depth of your repressed passions. The penance you pay is only more yearning to talk again, to see if when and where shares the same desire as you do. And sometimes the meeting of the minds and dueling imaginations creates a mutation of fate that seems almost impossible. But more often, these slated rendezvous only confirm what doubt and dubious cynicism had said all along. However, not all is lost, people are wrong to only think mistakes were made, perception contrived, that deception was conceived yet by another stranger.
For the danger is not in being duped, but in not realizing the old and rare beauty of the interchange. For in the process there were many more smiles, bits of precious laughter, insight you had not been after—such sweet serendipity should never be free, but here it was practically brought to you when at a moment you might have been less deserving.
In this world, often it is the means that justify the ends. So do not let the sweet method to a bitter end make you mad, you have not been had necessarily, for you must remind yourself of the sprite moments and the rise in your step, the color of your smile, the sun in your eye, all the while you were moving so lithely towards the beautiful other. Of course, there are other ways of looking at it—being angry, being spiteful, at a loss and otherwise troubled. But wasn’t the worth of your life, if only for a few moments, doubled by this delightful exchange? It was.
the art of love
l.m