the lost man chronicles
book two: the art of love

Hope Springs Eternal

Really. Itís quite amazing (and amusing) how it does.

Despite the discouraging undulation of love which ebbs and flows with the seasons, some of us still get pulled into the ether by the lunar tide, and avoid the safety of hiding within the languorous comfort of despondent cynicism.

Along my wayward journey, I have been rather fortunate to have discovered incredibly beautiful new worlds, as well as rich and wise ancient ones many times. Yet, it seems circumstance is bent on not bringing the crusader and the conquered together for that forever we all desperately pine and wish for.

Yet, despite the weathering passage through this vagabond life and ensuing wisdomóhere I am again.

Wandering, venturing, wondering what wonderful native I might meet and irrevocably believe, in a fit of amorous beguiling, that She is The One, and most certainly must be mine.

Inclined toward discovering the eternal spring fling, Iím pretty sure that is all but a myth, the elusive golden chalice of chivalrous pining, the alluring prize which routs the fears and the discouraging doubt that there really isnít one.

Nonetheless, as Iíve said, here I am. Because for me, fountain or not, hope will always spring eternal.

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