"Milady... I think I am in love with you."
"In love? How so?"
"I find you very beautiful: one of a kind."
"Oh, My Darling, you are not in love with me; You only find me attractive."
⊱ CHAPTER XVI ⊰
Love... For do I wish to be in it?
Love... What is it? How enticing is it to be bewitched under such mirage-like belief? What is it like to possess such sentiments towards a definite someone? These guffs needed some epitome of rebuttal, but such rejoinders are hitherto phantom-like, wholly—at least to I. I shan't yet make sense of the nitty-gritty beyond "love at first sight". Feasibly, I believe in it not. Or, haply, hast I ever righteously undergo such emotions?
I shan't distress much about fondness, for't is a most alien-like conceit to I: 'tis vague and hard to agnize. Or is it owing to the naked truth, for I am still young nd naive? Even though I am puzzled about what the affair is, I desire to bestow a story of a lad I met not too long since.
I adored him. Some few too much, haply. I never knew feelings could mount in a jiffy. I was overwhelmed, I knew not what to do. I was spooked of doing way little, yet I, at last, had done too much. I was dismayed of bestowing the hunch of not paying attention, yet he never paid any to I. I was fearful of him losing his affections regarding me, yet I hereafter made manifest that he never had any towards I. Was I mistaken? Or was he a mere imbecile? I didst all in my virtue to cache him, turns out he never very cared would he lost me.
Is this Love? This doeth count as it? Is it not too far-reached? Is it not just foolish? Doth love mean losing myself o'er some lad? Doth love mean hurting myself? Doth love hast to hurt no matter when? Because if it doth, then I shan't want to feel love aye once more.
"In love? How so?"
"I find you very beautiful: one of a kind."
"Oh, My Darling, you are not in love with me; You only find me attractive."
⊱ CHAPTER XVI ⊰
Love... For do I wish to be in it?
Love... What is it? How enticing is it to be bewitched under such mirage-like belief? What is it like to possess such sentiments towards a definite someone? These guffs needed some epitome of rebuttal, but such rejoinders are hitherto phantom-like, wholly—at least to I. I shan't yet make sense of the nitty-gritty beyond "love at first sight". Feasibly, I believe in it not. Or, haply, hast I ever righteously undergo such emotions?
I shan't distress much about fondness, for't is a most alien-like conceit to I: 'tis vague and hard to agnize. Or is it owing to the naked truth, for I am still young nd naive? Even though I am puzzled about what the affair is, I desire to bestow a story of a lad I met not too long since.
I adored him. Some few too much, haply. I never knew feelings could mount in a jiffy. I was overwhelmed, I knew not what to do. I was spooked of doing way little, yet I, at last, had done too much. I was dismayed of bestowing the hunch of not paying attention, yet he never paid any to I. I was fearful of him losing his affections regarding me, yet I hereafter made manifest that he never had any towards I. Was I mistaken? Or was he a mere imbecile? I didst all in my virtue to cache him, turns out he never very cared would he lost me.
Is this Love? This doeth count as it? Is it not too far-reached? Is it not just foolish? Doth love mean losing myself o'er some lad? Doth love mean hurting myself? Doth love hast to hurt no matter when? Because if it doth, then I shan't want to feel love aye once more.
