Anatomy of an Epicurean Solitude: VII Santiago, The Shepherd Boy

There were times I dreamt of experiences for my self-wandering lone-traveler seeking experiences of all kinds. The past days were the epitomic declarations of my romances. I love her like I love my life, out of all her imperfections and indifferences I love her. The sentimental reasons of mine kept her alive even in her absolute absence. My impetuous sentimental inclination towards her has grown into a mature one. There, I was a boy imagining myself in different genre of existences, differing from the animus and anima I could never find a hiding place for my own. She was a girl living in her utopian social dilemma and I was a boy living in my own anonymity loving the uncertainties ofj existence pertaining to the probabilities of possibilities. (18/12/14, 09:1 dI have edited something here. Those words are left to eterninty. Above, those words are still there in their alter life, ghost life.0 ~~PM)~~

~~I’m grown into a man; she into a woman and I see her now, glowing like a star, the foster child of Venus.~~

Reserved for some sentimental and inexcusable reasons of mine, I have no other excuses to give her not to fall in love. There will be no man left unloved her, of all the grossness of her vitality and the vivacity of her virgin zealous unchained unto the abyss of romances and vampirism, I am a man who could not leave her unloved. There, all the beauty of the nature drops into lesser creatures as she walks unto the throne of creation amidst the thorns of life. I just did it! yes, I have done it. Dear, They will say "if a writer is in love with you..blah blah blah blah". Keep it in mind, I am your architect. and you are being edited!

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Ruth: The Epilogue

"But..." I was being dragged by the ebb of time into the abyss. On the shores, beneath the mountains, blue waters lulled my feet. I was looking at the completion of my life as she was calling me to join the tides. The gravity of the past pulled me into the quantum architecture of multiple dimensions of life. I fell into the realms where I tricked my past to stay engaged. My present is an analogy of my past. The energy I created, then, in the quantum architecture transformed into an autonomous being of intelligence. I was unable to stop it from growing into a being. They said, "Quantum corresponds to each other and can transfer information to each other, no matter of space or time." Her lips quivered, and her feelings clouded her mind as she appeared like a glitch in time. Her words echoed through the ages, " We should remain ignorant of each other like we used to be in the past. I will pretend that I never knew you." P.S: Spenser read from his book, ...

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He asked me for my heart. And I gave it — not carved by hand, but cut open with the knife of time. Every year, every silence, every wound had sharpened that blade until it passed through me like inevitability. What I placed in his hands was not a symbol, but the raw, burning weight of my life — a heart heavier than the stars, heavier than everything I had ever carried or lost. He weighed it on a scale — my heart on one side, the universe on the other. And the universe bowed, its gravity faltering under the magnitude of my grief. Then he asked for my tears. I gave him a single drop — not just water, but molten sorrow distilled from years of silence. He let it fall into the waters of the world, and it struck like fire on the sea. Waves surged outward, devouring the land of my certainties, drowning the shores I once stood upon. Even the mountains of my strength bent beneath it. When he looked at me then, I was a man standing in the cavern of darkness, my life torn open, my hands empty. My...

The Ballads of Gravity

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