Love is the Devil’s madness, as it will remain God’s laughter. We describe how such an injection from a divine one, will be for humans, in their evil, to be something unlike what they simply desire. Blue is the color of tears, while green is the color of growth. Can we have the latter, without the former? We are beautiful when we display growth, though none so much in it, without needed sorrows.
Love enjoys itself upon a man’s base, holding him upright, as the only support, the only life given for himself. A man, German in origin, named Joel Beyer, peers from the window to the melancholy expression of a girl.
Her pain either waits for him, or it waits for itself to close and then disappear. Her face, so entrenched in this gloom, that it might be assumed to, at one moment, spill over at the feet of her. Her eyes cross to the relative, before her, sharing a likeness only in features. For that relative’s attempts, in reviving the girl’s joys, have not proven for fruit. Though, the relative persists.
Her eyes, a cluster of tears. Her face, washed by the marring of a thousand previous droplets, never to cleanse what really wilts her heart, in a revealed frozen aperture.
At a loss, or in loss, is the only description to be given to this one maiden, so otherwise lovely in her declining brownish curls to her neck. A tossing of them by the wind, gives her charm. A slight thrust of her head to the right, makes the somewhat obvious attempt to angle herself away from a certain direction. The window. It is from where Joel is viewing.
His eyes are making a road to her darkness, though with more of warmness to a contrast. He admires, though knows defeat, by the quivering smile, that wants to break in the touch of sadness upon his heart. It is that, by the sight of his face, at once warmth, with the other half being cold, that he seems cut between like part the sun, part the moon. Why the darkness of this girl must be viewed, is revealed by what Joel says, “Lisa. Lisa Johanna. Won’t you unbind that surname from yourself, and simply be my Lisa? Your heart won’t listen. Your mind won’t listen, for it thinks with too much loudness. I want to love, though you resist. You reach for a clock, always wanting time to rush faster than even your tears.”