YWednesday, January 11, 2006
bring me the beauty of ur words of wisdom and i'll carve it within me..
charm me with your elegance, sincerity, honesty, modesty and genuinity.
no pun is intended in this phrase, just the you whom i've longed to see...
everyone seek to find that one person who loves them
so that they can love and be loved
they long for them that the longing turns to be an obsession and fear..
obsessed in lookin for that someone and fear in bein too vulnerable.
i speak tis of myself and am a representative to anyone who wish to be represented
honestly, love is a delusion of eternal bliss and dependence.
i realise that the word "love" isnt "love" without passion and the willingness to accept
it isn't love if you just merely base it on feelings..
neither is it love if you solely base it on physical affection.
it has been said that love is like a Butterfly,
"it eludes you if you keep lookin for it, but it comes to you when u least expect it"
as ironic the analogy could be to similarize love with a butterfly,
i agree to it.
Love needs alot of hardwork and patience to last
it needs alot of care, and understanding with the utmost sensitivity.
Love itself is a dangerous aspect of life.
as it may exacerbate one's heart that was already broken.
you found it, you get to it and if you feel it..you go for it.
its not only about feelings..its about mutual respect
and understanding of one's heart with the other..
love can't exist wen it's prepossessed
neither can it exist out of doubts and negligence
so my darling sister, Hidayah..be patient..he'll come one day ;)
" Love is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake and then subsides.
And when it subsides you have to make a decision.
You have to work out whether your roots have become so entwined
together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part.
Because this is what love is.
Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement,
it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion.
That is just being "in love" which any of us can convince ourselves we are.
Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away,
and this is both an art and a fortunate accident.
Your mother and I had it, we had roots that grew towards each other underground,
and when all the pretty blossom had fallen from our branches we found that we were one tree and not two."
-- Captain Corelli's Mandolin
hehe ;P
_callous_ was here with you at
