I feel as though life has returned to my being. That the once sacred elixir which once bestowed unto me the will, the mere desire to live, to breathe, to assume the responsibilities of an extant entity, has found its way into my fragile constitution once more, ready to perform its duties. The mere fact that I am transcribing my innermost thoughts upon the page once more, immediately entails that there must exist some exuberance, some vivid quality that has entered my domain, leading me to the individual I once was. Antoine de Saint-Exupery once wrote, “Perhaps love is the process of my leading you gently back to yourself”.
I speak and act with a slight air of melancholia that is rather uncharacteristic and unassuming of a young lady of my education and age bracket. Tonight that melancholia has dissipated. Tonight all of the sorrow which once dominated the independent faculties of judgement have emanated the cries of defeat. Because of the sacred elixir has assumed the position once again, I now feel emotions of a more audacious nature.
This, I know in my heart is pulchritude. This is it in its purest, most innocuous iteration. But the caresses, the subtle touches, the sounds emanated from the deepest recesses of each other's being were not as pure, and yet my mind entirely comprehends that; and it has reconciled with it.
But as dogma attempts to instill within me an innate sense of guilt, I do not feel as though I have committed any sort of transgression.
This beauteous action has allowed me to breathe anew. Sorrow does not obtain a name, not has it retained its face. Instead joviality and contentment have legitimately acquired its place.
But it does not mean that I have entirely willing to acquiesce towards this novel, invigorating experience; logically, one fears what one does not know. But happiness is an ideal not of reason, but of imagination; one must abandon their rationality somewhat when one finds the things that truly make them happy.
Now I can leap, bend, and move in energetic fashion (an attribute that never characterized my younger years); but yet, that is the way it is now.
He has made me believe in it once more. That beauteous, pulchritudinous, amorous, inequitable elixir that makes life more facile to bear... This has inexplicably returned to me. I am the individual I once was.
I speak and act with a slight air of melancholia that is rather uncharacteristic and unassuming of a young lady of my education and age bracket. Tonight that melancholia has dissipated. Tonight all of the sorrow which once dominated the independent faculties of judgement have emanated the cries of defeat. Because of the sacred elixir has assumed the position once again, I now feel emotions of a more audacious nature.
This, I know in my heart is pulchritude. This is it in its purest, most innocuous iteration. But the caresses, the subtle touches, the sounds emanated from the deepest recesses of each other's being were not as pure, and yet my mind entirely comprehends that; and it has reconciled with it.
But as dogma attempts to instill within me an innate sense of guilt, I do not feel as though I have committed any sort of transgression.
This beauteous action has allowed me to breathe anew. Sorrow does not obtain a name, not has it retained its face. Instead joviality and contentment have legitimately acquired its place.
But it does not mean that I have entirely willing to acquiesce towards this novel, invigorating experience; logically, one fears what one does not know. But happiness is an ideal not of reason, but of imagination; one must abandon their rationality somewhat when one finds the things that truly make them happy.
Now I can leap, bend, and move in energetic fashion (an attribute that never characterized my younger years); but yet, that is the way it is now.
He has made me believe in it once more. That beauteous, pulchritudinous, amorous, inequitable elixir that makes life more facile to bear... This has inexplicably returned to me. I am the individual I once was.
