Odi et amo. quare id faciam, fortasse requiris.
nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior.
I hate and I love. Why I do this, perhaps you ask.
I know not, but I feel it happening and I am tortured.
--- Catullus 85, Gaius Valerius Catullus ( 84 – c. 54 BC.)
Why did people fall in love? Even she, the goddess of love returned, did not have an answer. As a goddess of love returned, Rosabelle didn't deny the existence of love or human ability to love; yet, she didn't think love existed for her.
She had always known that there was a part of her that was cold, heartless and unlovable. Such a pathetic little being like her would only hurt people stupid enough to love her. For eons, she had never allowed herself to be beloved, but...Matthew was different. He loved her, deeply, blindly, madly, unconditionally, tenaciously, obsessively and was arrogant enough to do so without her permission. She couldn't help it, couldn't make him stop loving her more than stop herself from loving him back. Loving would only hurt both of them. She was not the goddess of requited love more than she was the goddess of heartbreaks and he was not his own person more than he was Apollo's shadow. It was only a matter of time before she broke his heart or he disappeared like any darkness in the light. She could forsee how it would end, yet she couldn't help herself.
Her cell phone showed the time Sunday 12:00 am. There was light in one window on the top floor of the 6 storey mansion on Parkroad, where it all started.
She hesitated to ring the doorbell, knowing that she would run away and come to her senses if she delayed the inevitable any further. She sprung up her wings and flew to the balcony like a moth hurling towards the flame.
The sliding door of the balcony was only half closed. At a sight of a familiar side profile of a man on a scarlet club chair with a port in one hand and a familiar pink sapphire ring in the other, she hid herself in the dark. Despite his closed eyes, she knew they were familiar rare amber.
A sweet melody was playing from an old gramophone on the table. A sweet lullaby for the man who couldn't find peace in sleep.
Parlez-moi d'amour, Speak to me of love
Redites-moi des choses tendres, tell me tender things once more
Votre beau discours, your beautiful speech
Mon coeur n'est pas las de l'entendre. my heart doesn't get tired of listening to it
Pourvu que toujours provided that you always
Vous répétiez ces mots suprêmes : repeat those supreme words:
Je vous aime. "I love you"
Vous savez bien You know well
Que dans le fond, je n'en crois rien, that deep inside me I don't believe any of them
Mais cependant je veux encore, but nonetheless I still want to
YOU ARE READING
The Perils of Unrequited Love
RomanceA lady in perils! Lady Rosabelle Godfrey, beautiful, rich and spoiled rotten daughter of the 25th marquess of wrenworth, had lived 21 years of life with little to vex or distress her until a series of unfortunate events threatened to shatter her ill...
