I’ve long succumbed—long subdued myself to the never-ending cycle, I can never quell the accelerated beating of my heart, nor can I ever vanquish the incorrigible flames that were a mere flicker from being put out, but then there you were, your presence was all the fuel that was needed for the bursting inferno to come to life once more. I’ve fooled myself a tad too many times, reasoning, and aiming to disregard the resounding image of you that’s been a constant reiteration in my consciousness. Undoubtedly, it was futile, no matter how many times I’ve put on a terrible feat suggesting a lackadaisical interest towards you, I can never deny that once in my solitude, I’d envision your smile, hear your reverberant laugh taunting my mind that I have never elicited such a grin from you.
It was maddening, to be constantly haunted by your being. Every beguiling writing—every meticulous description pales in comparison to the furor of countless thoughts plaguing my intellect. It grappled my rationality, sending me into a state of bewilderment and constant musings of your person. There’s not one coherent thought, my existence, now desolate of justification—of sensibility, defying all premise why one should obliviate from you. I found myself at my wit's end, in a war with no one else than oneself, my fervent affection mocked any sense of argument heeding no other but my emotions, and then suddenly the rules I bound myself to came all crashing because my heart listens to a reason, one my intelligence isn’t privy to.
One thing is unequivocal. I love you—the depths of which rival even the most radical part of the sea. An intensity that goes beyond even the bounds of imagination. A fervour feeling that’s insuppressible to the point of it tormenting my own sanity. You have bewitched me—the entirety of me—let my heart rule over erudition, over rationale. Then, it dawned upon me, the reckoning of the heart.
“Le cœur a ses raisons que la raison ne connaît point.”
The heart has its reasons of which reason knows nothing.
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Of Flowery Words (I Wanted To Say)
RandomWhy not just give actual flowers? Well, flowers are a cute gift to show devotion. But don't you think that words can also do the same? If not more? These words I give can show all my devotion, bare emotions, and consolation. While flowers wilt, and...
