Oh, love! It is that emotion that runs with waters so crystalline from the bowels of a heart, out to pull the victim close. Love is an emotion that imprisons, and one finds comfort in the enslavement. One finds purpose, through love. An emotion like it, is no one’s demise, and everyone’s weakness. In death, we have found it. In life, we search for it.
When we deny the presence of love; when we deny its fulfilling importance; when we deny its treasure to be reaped, love soon finds us.
Love hunts for us.
He says to the wind, “I do not find, for the current moment, love in my heart for this creature named ‘Devorah’. I feel only an urge to be fascinated by her. Her face and her form, that which makes up the human, by beauty, and by grace. There should be ample details to observe, and many tales for her to speak. Mystery must come residing from her, and this mystery entices my curiosity.”
Love is both a hunter and a huntress.
The hunter is allured, while the huntress allures.
Is Antoine the one to deny love? It could be assumed as so, for as much as love is too fleeting, it is also an emotion linked to desperation. It must have been spoken of, already, though in such desperation, as we weep near to windows that are clawed upon by raindrops, we yearn. We yearn for the oncoming tide to sweep us into the storm’s embrace. A turbulent embrace, fraught by completeness and incompleteness.
In his mind, he sees her expression, alight with a smile so broad and so very endearing. A smile that could adopt the furnace’s shape during winter and holds a warmth that rivals spring. A smile as delicate as straw. On the opposite, it reflects the efficiency of a summer tempest, knowing to fracture the walls of a home; to then reveal the inner, where there is peace; for such a smile will as easily heal as it will wound.