Love is the most successful tormentor, for even those who succeed within it, are tormented to belong to it. When a relationship fails, it is humans who have failed, not love.
We are attached to love, giving into the torment, because flesh is more vulnerable than a home.
Love cannot deceive, though love will also never reprieve. It will not leave the person from their suffering in its realm. Why do we suffer? We suffer, in love, because we feel the most vulnerable, in it.
It is especially a man who feels the vulnerability. He is soon cloaked by it, by the weakness that had always remained alien to him.
Love does not have flesh. It has wings.
A beloved does have flesh, and such flesh of a man will be strong. Then, to be weak, is a time where he no longer fights. He no longer fights for himself, though for someone else. As a man was the sole person to enter warfare, it was to fight for someone else. It was as Hellish, as it was romantic.
Blood holds the same color as the ruby-red lips a man aims to kiss, of a woman. What does the soldier see, whose mind is wrangled?
Men have an inherent instinct over failure. Men have an instinct over guilt, when it comes to action. Should their actions be minimal, then they will feel the failure through its driving winds.
What pertains to a man’s pain, in love? What pertains to our character, Alessio, and his pain, when wanting love? It is the vulnerability that makes a person wishing to be found, upon a road where their tracks are lost from falling snow.
We are never vulnerable when we love. We are, however, vulnerable when we are loved.
Modern Romanticism 