Choleric Love

Tonight I drained the last few drops of an incredibly romantic love story penned by Marquez of a similar title to what I have named this post. It's made me reflective of what one looks for in love, and what can prove the veracity of a true love that lasts forever. I have to admit to my own insipid and hopelessly romantic notions of what love could or should mean. To the point that it's a pointless dialogue between me, myself, and I, it occupies my thoughts too much, and yet, every time I settle to trash such vapid musings, it creeps back in the flash of a ray of sunshine or a drifting snowflake.

I then wonder whether experience is what quenches the mind's thirst to further explore foreign notions, with the result that the draw of past experience to rediscover what I've already known proves that experience does not satisfy perfectly. Some might call this perfectionism in completing the experience fully, but whatever the semantics, I'll subject it to my terms in the end, in which discovery of something that's worth it will only lead to a subsequent insatiable thirst to dive further into its abyss.

As the New Fidelity travels back and forth on the Magdalena til the rivers run different courses, the lifetime that it took to accomplish the momentous union is a hopeful signal to the hopeless. Of course, the day that it comes will very likely also be the hour at which I remember the same sourness in my mouth that has embittered me before. Evincing this clearly is the ironic pursuit of someone who was so beyond honesty with themself that a lifetime was wasted in coming to terms with what was tapped only upon the dusk of life's greatest years. Or perhaps the message is that if it was meant to be, then the sun will once again rise from the east. Or maybe time wasted is actually a lesson learned in the details of what it need not be, a.k.a. the peripheral facts of life that do not pertain to its existence.

It's a beautiful story, you should read it no matter what your take on the issue.