“As we love, we feel the other person, never ourselves. To this degree, we realize that through such love, it does not die, even in death. Within our heart, we feel them. To feel the other person has us comprehend the limitlessness of our beloved’s existence, even during the flesh’s non-existence.”
– Modern Romanticism
Love is, what duration is not. There is no expiration to love, marked as a tag upon its very worth.
We feel the other. It is not us, that we feel, through love. To ourselves, in such “love” for however it is felt, would instead represent its opposite, being fear. To ourselves, by ourselves, we are fearful. We are so, because in that vulnerable aspect of being alone, we are afraid to trust, once again. Trust would weaken us, so that we are revealing vulnerabilities to someone we understand as equal to ourselves. We’d come to know that they share the same vulnerabilities as ourselves.
It is because of fear, by such lone vulnerability it presents, that we are durable. We have duration, as we reveal our flaws and limitations to the open, to anyone. Such is a deception, because to reveal our imperfections to just anyone, is the same as to no one; thus, it is comparable to loneliness. It is through love that we have unlimited strength. For to fight for someone else, rather than just ourselves, we discover what it means to fear for, rather than to fear another person.
Even after the death of a beloved, love exists. We will wish, as perhaps Atheists, to want for God who represents love, to reveal Himself. As evidence, that is. Though, in sameness through that mindset, we will also state that God is dead.
Even in death, our evidence for what can be proven, cannot be at all. It is what’s being kept close, never meant to be spoken about through criticism, that “proof” has no meaning for what we cannot possibly question. How can we question what we feel, for its truth, without attempting to revive it? Such would form the criticism against what we claim to not understand, when we do. A question upon love would be to limit it, being against its essence within eternity.
Beyond the limited duration of life, love holds onto what remembers. Through death, love pushes us forward. Though, we’ll continue to remember. We will, as though we’ve lost them during the previous moment.
If we feel another, even after their death, then what evidence is there to offer when flesh is dust? And, we cannot hold out evidence for what is dust, in flesh, though so real, in the heart.
Imagine the torment the human mind would have to endure, were we to be suddenly absent of the memories, meant to offer us comfort, upon a loved one’s death?
Who so non-empathetic, yet so scientific, would find it wishful enough to offer “treatment” to the grieving individual, upon sight of their tears? Such tears are calming for the grieving one. Tears comfort the mournful one, all due to the memories that remind the living of life’s importance. If one so non-empathetic, yet so scientific, could believe another is impaired by their grief, then they’ve yet to understand what keeps life moving.
It is always the past that gives life hope. Such is the only representation of the future, being hope.
Love, the past.
Hope, the future.
Modern Romanticism 