Note 1

Alright. I will admit to this one inconsistency:

when girls tell you to leave them alone they usually, actually want you to -- need you to -- do the exact opposite.

Love as War 3

You will know that it is you. The subject, the center, the cause of this war. The prize of victory, the possible world after.

But I want the feeling to come to you in the quietest hour. I want the fullness of it, the completeness of it, to touch your soul.

Love as War 2

In this battle, the tragic end is not perishing but survival. To be left, after everything, in the middle of the ruins, by oneself. You've survived but you're all alone.

The real triumph in the war of love is death - a particular kind of death. This is because on the one hand, death can be the loss of oneself in vain. But on the other, if we get to be really really lucky, we die for another - we empty ourselves for the sake of another person. And: if we get really really really lucky, the person dies for us as well. The war is not a war of killing but a war of dying to be renewed: to be out of oneself to an other.

That's a little wonderful thought.
Imagine yourself getting to war, trembling, crying, afraid.
Imagine losing all your vanity in the process. Imagine realizing that the enemy must be a friend. Imagine getting back with another.
Imagine yourself emerging from the war with your heart whole. Intact.

It shall be glorious.

Love as War 1

Love and war are the same in that if either is to be real, there may be same casualty. This gives very good reason to avoid both, while possible -- to refuse to take part in what may be so great but taking.

But when all else fails, at least choose which battles are worth your heart.

Roses are red

Of course you've heard of it - you've probably said it too: we paint life with our colors. It's wonderful, happy and merry and bright.

My own life, my love, my being, I'd like to be like the roses- see the petals? All the possibilities - one by one, each more mysterious than the last. And how wonderful too, the glorious pink, the reds, the white, the occasional blue or yellow - all the beautiful colors telling of each part of the dreams we nurse.

But these days I am closer to the absolutes. Just black and white - happy or sad, feeling either good or bad. Just that. But quite honestly, I'd prefer to see all these in all their fancy hues - it'll be more exciting to be in between, to be free from being stuck in one extreme. But these days things are losing their meanings. I am blinded. I do not know what this is.
Is this knowing - realizing the truth for the first time? And so is this white - the fullness of colors? Or the other extreme - black, the absence of light? Either way, I am growing blind. I can no longer tell the blue from the red, the green, the white.

This makes me very sad. I am desperate.

Please, please save the roses.