imagesCA47MJ4passsionate writer Love, lust, heat, passion, perfume, explosions….

An incorrigible graphomania, caught me one day in its invisible network, a network in which the writer, when she writes with her soul, without trying to pretend what she is not, despite all what other could think or say, makes the words take almost a body like figure which is melted together. 

In this Blog for romantics, today, I will speak about me or rather, about what I have inside, what is innate in me, love. We are two adjacent layers of the same piece, a whole that cannot be split. 
Traditional life is the permanent source that fuels the story of my life, but it is impossible to explain just with one principle the variety of love, so I’ll try to establish a quantitative plurality of all the elements which show what love is made of…

People seem to persist in understanding the opposite of what I mean and this is understandable as the fortuitous contrast between how I think and how I move, often seems a mockery. But what I would tell to these same people is that intuition is the best form of the loving knowledge and sometimes, reason has not a primary role in our lives. I recognize that I am one who thinks with her intuition and moves with her heart, an attitude that tends to give greater importance to the inner life than to reality. But that’s just me. With my senses dazed, I’m like love in crescendo, I’m like love when it’s in serious trouble. Sometimes I tend to remain in a state of undefined inertia, other times I move at an incredible speed. Fickle, I’m looking for stability, untamed, I’m looking to be conquered, deeply touched by love, impossible, I can’t admit what is not very difficult to obtain. Such is love. It leads me to explore everywhere, such as me, we can implore without praying, cry without tears, impose ourselves without demanding…
 
Love is in me. It started as a seemingly benign disease  with space for adjustable remission but now it has become a chronic disease. I will give some explanation to this pathological state which unfortunately,  has caused a terrible physical abnormality… With the symbolic language of the eyes, I see love, change into the brightest star of my boreal sky, silently injecting me with its powerful and life-giving fluid that makes me lose control over myself. With its magnum of sensations, suddenly it feels like causing a flood that  leaves a large  wave that swallows me completely, an earthquake whose epicenter is located in the innermost part of my body.

There is an electrical current that stimulates my heart muscle rhythmically as if it was a runaway pacemaker and suddenly, erupting out of my shell  comes an exaggerated, vicious, lush, flaming sexual desire. The palms of my hands change into something like a slug,  I try hiding them digging them inside my pockets, but in vain. When passions are excited it’s like  yeast  dough, the swelling can not stop untill all energy is released … Love with its macrophage heart can cause serious prejudice to people, charms or spells, however, for me, love gives me useful substances and is always beneficial to me.

Love is like most insects which can live free or as parasites, the point is not to  stifle it, but knowing how to live with it in harmony. This is my mantra. Try to see beyond its animate body, what are these useful substances that stimulate us.

Love is silky as a rose, but it has thorns. Its fragrance is sweet as honey, but it can also sting you like a bee with its stinger. The subsequent step to the beat of passion is something like alcoholic delirium, a burning sensation in the stomach, pharynx, a light irradiation, pyromaniac, a purple color on a livid cheek, as an indelible bruise that betrays one …

Love perfumed with sex provides a renewed enthusiasm. When this happens, I start shaking like a leaf, shaking like a fish in a net , shaking uncontrolably.  I’m almost in a trance, I’m the queen of the hive, and my whole being betrays a provocative attitude to the  love challenge. As an engine ignities, the flames spread through my body wreaking havoc on my skin, I feel like I’m exploding inside, it’s something indefinable, indescribable …  Lust, love, passion is in me, I just do not share the same ecological space, I’m alive, I am above the limit of perpetual snow and yet my body is like hot spring waters.

Hour after hour watching my work of genius, making every day a special day, the queen bee becomes a busy bee, carrying out the work which is necessary for the maintenance of love. But sometimes love becomes despondant,  pessimistic when the passion fades and a total indifference comes over me. I dont feel any inclination towards it any longer. My defense mechanism starts alone as it knows when it’s time to react.

Love is always on the other side of the mountain, as if to escape danger! Love takes off masks. Sometimes, Love does not need anyone anymore, such as me, such as the singing of the Andalusia gypsies, who do not need the accompaniment of the guitar …

Love is like the ups and downs of my life, the carousel of my days! Up on the vitalized rotating wheel that transports me, love is the iron scorching subject that holds me …  I can feel an invisible substance all around me that volatilizes into the air and produces a small explosion in the heart of the recipient and then, I start hearing a boom boom, I show out my prismatic antennae and suddenly I see a sparkling spot covering my visual space, love is there after all.

Love is also tragic, it recklessly lungs me about it and it bites my skin again, burning strongly. I am not satisfied with a consolation prize, I want it to give me everything and in return, love always looks for the top prize. And it succeeds. I become a sculptor, forming the most beautiful work that my eyes have ever seen, an obelisk of infinite pleasure. 

Unrepentant, I persist being a sinner, but love is forgiving. It’s easy to forgive love even when it hurts because it is aware that like me, love is an expert in disguise , forgive me is to forgive itself and therefore, at all times, it feels compelled to bestow grace. Love never gets carried away by the feeling of guilt, provided hints, who forewarns is not a traitor if forearmed …

The symptoms of my illness are felt again, I am an inveterate psychic sadomasochistic. I manifest pleasure in torturing my mind, experiencing, reliving the most beautiful moments of my affair, while, in the distance, I must endure unsustainable feelings of loneliness.
It’s not true what they say about love, nor what they say about me. Yet,  we pursue an ideal and incessantly wander around searching for the unattainable, it’s always a way to feel alive.

Altruism that leads to sacrifice our own interests for others interests is not made for us. Time, that implacable avenger, is responsible for reward or punishes each of us, according to our merits.

The atmosphere is overwhelmed, the intensity of waves of light appears to decrease, but I do not intend to retain the energy of their radiation. I’ve been crossed by them, separate from love or together with it; we both are still the same object at its core…