Digging up the past
I just found this entry, or I should say the entry below, that I wrote last year. Filed away in my personal archives...I've dug up quite a past. I thought it was interesting to read and satisfying to know that my feelings have not changed.
December 27, 2004
Frost lines the office window of my apartment. Lines of crystallized water crackle across the windowpane as snow settles silently in the evening lamplight. Decorated trees stand in effigy of Christmas passed. I wait for Isaiah.
In my scant twenty years of life, and I swear by this, I have never been so enamored, so consumed by one person entirely. Rarely do I entrust my confidence in others, but Isaiah disarms me. Completely.
It feels as though love before was counterfeit. Old lovers were shelling out reproductions of affection and selling them at the same cost. This is not the case anymore: this kind of gold does not wash away.
I am awed by how easy love is when it is selfless; when love is reciprocated. Past experiences led me to believe I had some truly deep grasp of emotion and affection, but I knew nothing until now.
This is the truth, this is genuine.
December 27, 2004
Frost lines the office window of my apartment. Lines of crystallized water crackle across the windowpane as snow settles silently in the evening lamplight. Decorated trees stand in effigy of Christmas passed. I wait for Isaiah.
In my scant twenty years of life, and I swear by this, I have never been so enamored, so consumed by one person entirely. Rarely do I entrust my confidence in others, but Isaiah disarms me. Completely.
It feels as though love before was counterfeit. Old lovers were shelling out reproductions of affection and selling them at the same cost. This is not the case anymore: this kind of gold does not wash away.
I am awed by how easy love is when it is selfless; when love is reciprocated. Past experiences led me to believe I had some truly deep grasp of emotion and affection, but I knew nothing until now.
This is the truth, this is genuine.