Why is it that we often refer to a love for romanticism in despair? Is love not always enduring, faithful, and wishful?
I admit to having associated myself with the simple-minded ideas of love and its allure. Visions of our instinctive beings, completely sincere daydreams, with virgin like impressions. Yet reality has terrorized me in understanding the truth about love. I have recognized my drive toward stormy relationships. My desire was always to create a rainbow after the storm, even though I never had the power to. This unmet aspiration has given me an appreciation of the authority of nature that does not belong to me. And even now, without that capacity, I remain absolutely hopeful.