leaveten's Diaryland Diary

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philophobia

We don't simply fall in love with the beautiful, instead we find beauty in what we love. There is a sweet romance surrounding the beautiful, we treasure it, we go to war for it, some men die for beauty, and some live because of it. When we fall in love with someone, they instantly become the most breathtaking image our eyes have ever seen. They become undefined, and a sudden appreciation erupts for the absurd and the complex; we become mesmerized by their every detail from the freckles in their eyes to the curve of their spine. In awe of all their greatness, they capture our minds. Our thoughts of the future begin to form like stones around their existence until we've built our lives around them. Through beauty, through love, this extraordinary magnetism begins to pull us until even the gravity of the sun doesn't have a hold over us like the strings of our hearts. To have experiences the rush of this energy has long been deemed essentially to a well journied life. However, the loss of it is perhaps one of the greatest losses of the human experience. Can it be true, that if we peel apart the rose colored layers of love, if it's defensively blind beauty was shunned away, and we were only left with the reality of the situation, it would be possible to feel anything but fear? Love inspires greatness, yet it also leads to the downfall of all great men. Throughout history, man has written books, traveled lands, fought beyond the extent of his own limitations all for the sake of this one great accomplishment. This accomplishment that drives us, that motivates us, pushes us to be everything that we are capable of becoming- what are we left with when it's gone aside from the tragic memories of what was, what could have been, and what will never be? What becomes of us now?

2:29 am - 03-30-15

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