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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The Ballads of Gravity

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