An Illusion of LOVE

An Illusion of LOVEhttp://daphny.blog.co.uk/Illusion of a woman... Desperate... Fool... Hopeless romantic.. with a sprinkle of Stupidity..hahaha!!en-EUhourly82000-01-01T12:00+00:00An Illusion of LOVEhttp://daphny.blog.co.uk/http://data5.blog.de/design/preview/91/70c9ce7ac32b419c3be8a4176aef47_160x200.jpgAn Illusion of LOVE...http://daphny.blog.co.uk/2007/09/15/an_illusion_of_love~2982322/2007-09-15T03:23:36+02:00 <img src="/img/smilies/icon_redface.gif" alt=":oops:" class="middle" border="0"> "Diseases desperate grown But desperate appliance are reliev'd Or not at all." An excerpt (modified): The knuckles of my hand are stiff. I must drop the pencil occasionallyand rub them warm. Allthe bones of my body ache dully and it occurs to me that even the dread of death is a subjectively relative thing, welcomed as often as not by the poor and ailing while the rich and pleasured tremble at its mention. The thought brings a smile to mu dry lips. But the simle fades as I once again face the vacant page with a resharpened pencil. The white-ruled paper is ragged at the top of the table testifying ti the ripped out pages of a dozen aborted things. The problem is that there is no beginning - no REAL, TRUE BEGINNING. Not a concrete fixed point in time labeled with fixed dated events to proceed from - thus, I don't know how it would end. So I must put it down as one narrates a dream, a picking up at a point whose only qualification is taht it is a clearly remembered moment, andd then relate from there. A LOST MOMENT. Not a chance that it will ever come again. The story is BUT a bream turned nightmare, so I will begin with a dream, that I can still remember... A dream that I can still feel... Only a dream, that is, FAR FROM REALITY. <img src="/img/smilies/icon_sad.gif" alt=":(" class="middle" border="0"> A face. A young man's face. Good-looking and with a radiant smile, cast before the silhouette ambiance of a room. Bowing down to give me my "good morning" kiss on my forehead. Crow black, incongruously healthy, newly-cut hair matches the enormous glow of his eyes. Such a wonderful sight to behold in an earliest hour of the day! The sweet curve of lips that formed in his parted mouth only to reveal that too-perfect teeth of dentures. A voice filtered through the wave of the air, ordering me to get up and start a new day with him. Then, he said, "come with me!" I still feel sleepy to rise but he insisted and again he said "take my hand". I sat back up and reached my hand out to him and with a shudder, I saw my hand pass through his own. The vision in my memory slowly fades away. The last thing I remembered is his saying "goodbye". Goodbye?<img src="/img/smilies/icon_question.gif" alt=":?:" class="middle" border="0"> For what?<img src="/img/smilies/icon_question.gif" alt=":?:" class="middle" border="0"> What had happened?<img src="/img/smilies/icon_question.gif" alt=":?:" class="middle" border="0"> I could not fathom. What has ended?<img src="/img/smilies/icon_question.gif" alt=":?:" class="middle" border="0"> I could not imagine. Goodbye means the end, isn't it not? What is the ending? I don't know. What had happened is the creation of my imagination. AN ILLUSION OF LOVE! Traumatic, yet, I daresay - WORTH!! But, alas! It wasn't real! IT IS ALL A DREAM!!!:'( <a href="http://daphny.blog.co.uk/2007/09/15/an_illusion_of_love~2982322/#comments">Comments</a> :oops:

"Diseases desperate grown
But desperate appliance are reliev'd
Or not at all."

An excerpt (modified):

The knuckles of my hand are stiff.
I must drop the pencil occasionallyand rub them warm. Allthe bones of my body ache dully and it occurs to me that even the dread of death is a subjectively relative thing, welcomed as often as not by the poor and ailing while the rich and pleasured tremble at its mention.

The thought brings a smile to mu dry lips. But the simle fades as I once again face the vacant page with a resharpened pencil. The white-ruled paper is ragged at the top of the table testifying ti the ripped out pages of a dozen aborted things.

The problem is that there is no beginning - no REAL, TRUE BEGINNING. Not a concrete fixed point in time labeled with fixed dated events to proceed from - thus, I don't know how it would end.

So I must put it down as one narrates a dream, a picking up at a point whose only qualification is taht it is a clearly remembered moment, andd then relate from there.

A LOST MOMENT. Not a chance that it will ever come again.

The story is BUT a bream turned nightmare, so I will begin with a dream, that I can still remember... A dream that I can still feel... Only a dream, that is, FAR FROM REALITY.

A face.

A young man's face. Good-looking and with a radiant smile, cast before the silhouette ambiance of a room. Bowing down to give me my "good morning" kiss on my forehead. Crow black, incongruously healthy, newly-cut hair matches the enormous glow of his eyes. Such a wonderful sight to behold in an earliest hour of the day!

The sweet curve of lips that formed in his parted mouth only to reveal that too-perfect teeth of dentures. A voice filtered through the wave of the air, ordering me to get up and start a new day with him.

Then, he said, "come with me!"

I still feel sleepy to rise but he insisted and again he said "take my hand".
I sat back up and reached my hand out to him and with a shudder, I saw my hand pass through his own.

The vision in my memory slowly fades away. The last thing I remembered is his saying "goodbye".

Goodbye? :?: For what? :?:

What had happened? :?: I could not fathom.

What has ended? :?: I could not imagine.

Goodbye means the end, isn't it not? What is the ending? I don't know.

What had happened is the creation of my imagination.
AN ILLUSION OF LOVE! Traumatic, yet, I daresay - WORTH!!

But, alas! It wasn't real!

IT IS ALL A DREAM!!!:'(

Comments

]]>An Illusion of LOVE...http://daphny.blog.co.uk/2007/09/15/an_illusion_of_love~2982305/2007-09-15T03:01:41+02:00:oops: "Diseases desperate grown But desperate appliance are reliev'd Or not at all." An excerpt (modified): The knuckles of my hand are stiff. I must drop the pencil occasionallyand rub them warm. Allthe bones of my body ache dully and it occurs to me that even the dread of death is a subjectively relative thing, welcomed as often as not by the poor and ailing while the rich and pleasured tremble at its mention. The thought brings a smile to mu dry lips. But the simle fades a <a href="http://daphny.blog.co.uk/2007/09/15/an_illusion_of_love~2982305/#comments">Comments</a> Comments

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