Sailing Ships
As I sip my coffee here in this all-night greasy spoon and tap idly at my insubstantial keyboard, I cannot help but think of my dear love, nestled away somewhere deep within the bosom of Gruphoogicon HQ.
No, be honest with yourself, Neutrino: the Female Doctor is an infatuation. Not a true 'love'. There is a difference.
Infatuation is the thing that wrestles with one's attention with a clumsy insistence. It sets the mind to rattling like an empty stainless-steel Mixmaster on 'crumble'. Infatuation floods the heart with a bright white light. When we are infatuated, we lose ourselves, hoping that we might never reappear.
But love? Love is what remains after we inevitably emerge, after the stage lights have dimmed down to an illuminating glow. It means support, not entertainment. Focus rather than distraction. I don't love this Female Doctor! So why on Earth am I saying such things?
And why am I already planning a second pilgrimage into the depths of Gruphoogicon HQ?
No, be honest with yourself, Neutrino: the Female Doctor is an infatuation. Not a true 'love'. There is a difference.
Infatuation is the thing that wrestles with one's attention with a clumsy insistence. It sets the mind to rattling like an empty stainless-steel Mixmaster on 'crumble'. Infatuation floods the heart with a bright white light. When we are infatuated, we lose ourselves, hoping that we might never reappear.
But love? Love is what remains after we inevitably emerge, after the stage lights have dimmed down to an illuminating glow. It means support, not entertainment. Focus rather than distraction. I don't love this Female Doctor! So why on Earth am I saying such things?
And why am I already planning a second pilgrimage into the depths of Gruphoogicon HQ?