Marguerite Yourcenar.
I can but aspire to such greatness.
.
[9 - 10/7/2011]
This time, the wind whispered her name in my ears louder than ever before. This time, I could see her, and not only in the distant horizon of the twilight, or in the flickering lights of the city in the distance, but in the true grasp of memories long lost and forgotten. And then I comprehended every inch of the wonder that once marveled me, and that I was never able — for the feeble shadow of a man I was yet to be — to grasp as slightly as I ever wished to.
She now inhabits my dreams: the softest curves of her face, the distinguishing spot on her right cheek, the sparkle in her dark eyes, the curled hair, the seductive motion of her dancing body, the appealing uniqueness of her dressing, her soft skin, and the caressing sound of her voice — lost forever in my ears. I cannot now forget what I have never experienced, as the dim fire of distorted memory has been fed by the sight of her. It is with great inner dispute that I painstakingly commend myself to the task of avoiding the descent into the darkest pit of sorrow, well-beknownst of mine; for missing that wich never has been is to deliver one's self to the darkest of realms.
This time, I've heard the words that cleared up my mind, and made me see the truth — words I should have been able to listen to long ago. And now I know that the past has been buried, our links have been broken, and all that has been in those fleeting moments, is now lost in the auguries of time and the casualities of life. We drifted by — we drifted apart. And I shiver to that thought. And I wish for that feeling once again — warm, pure, unmeasured, unafraid. And then I retreat to that coldness, that stillness of my life as it is, and wish for something to thwart that beloved memory, recast it to the darkest shadows where it came from, and bring me again feelings of good.
But it is clear now, though it has always been in some part of my mind, that I cannot forget you entirely, or some of the scarce, fleeting moments we shared. Your image haunts me still after seven years, and I cannot help but feeling how I wish, from the bottom of my heart, that things had been different... had been better.
For now, I pray the world — and it's misterious ways — will mend the restless silence that has taken over those memories, and that everlasting corner of my heart... that let it be know, is bound by inexplicable forces to be forever devoted to this misterious, fascinating, adorable femme d'argent.
.
.
On July 12 2011
3 Views
![Marguerite Yourcenar.
I can but aspire to such greatness.
.
[9 - 10/7/2011]
This time, the wind whispered her name in my ears louder than ever before. This time, I could see her, and not only in the distant horizon of the twilight, or in the flickering lights of the city in the distance, but in the true grasp of memories long lost and forgotten. And then I comprehended every inch of the wonder that once marveled me, and that I was never able — for the feeble shadow of a man I was yet to be — to grasp as slightly as I ever wished to.
She now inhabits my dreams: the softest curves of her face, the distinguishing spot on her right cheek, the sparkle in her dark eyes, the curled hair, the seductive motion of her dancing body, the appealing uniqueness of her dressing, her soft skin, and the caressing sound of her voice — lost forever in my ears. I cannot now forget what I have never experienced, as the dim fire of distorted memory has been fed by the sight of her. It is with great inner dispute that I painstakingly commend myself to the task of avoiding the descent into the darkest pit of sorrow, well-beknownst of mine; for missing that wich never has been is to deliver one's self to the darkest of realms.
This time, I've heard the words that cleared up my mind, and made me see the truth — words I should have been able to listen to long ago. And now I know that the past has been buried, our links have been broken, and all that has been in those fleeting moments, is now lost in the auguries of time and the casualities of life. We drifted by — we drifted apart. And I shiver to that thought. And I wish for that feeling once again — warm, pure, unmeasured, unafraid. And then I retreat to that coldness, that stillness of my life as it is, and wish for something to thwart that beloved memory, recast it to the darkest shadows where it came from, and bring me again feelings of good.
But it is clear now, though it has always been in some part of my mind, that I cannot forget you entirely, or some of the scarce, fleeting moments we shared. Your image haunts me still after seven years, and I cannot help but feeling how I wish, from the bottom of my heart, that things had been different... had been better.
For now, I pray the world — and it's misterious ways — will mend the restless silence that has taken over those memories, and that everlasting corner of my heart... that let it be know, is bound by inexplicable forces to be forever devoted to this misterious, fascinating, adorable [i]femme d'argent[/i].
.
. - Fotolog](http://sp9.fotolog.com/photo/25/15/87/devil_d/1310505869438_f.jpg)
