Its a tragic tale.
She looks up, blinking slowly, adjusting to reality. She's learned alot about life and love this year. She can hear the distant sound of the familiar christmas cd's playing on the stereo outside her room.
Yes. She's learned alot. Like love isn't something you can chase and then find, demand to fit your needs, or or even predict. Love something stronger, deeper, greater, like a river that can't stop flowing, the sun that can't stop shining. Not like the rainstorms that pound furiously then leave, a mere trace of a cloud left as a memory all that it leaves behind. True love does not leave, or falter.
Love isn't confined to or by romance.
Can love be something that produces terror, such as in Heathcliff/ Are his mad rages really produced by thwarted love? Or simply his putting that love on too high a pedestel, making it the tyrant god that rules him?
True possesors of true love cannot love one then passionately hate another.
True love sees and loves all, though not all are deserving.
True love speaks the kind words and the honest ones, the words that are difficult to say, but must be said.
True love is the embrace that comforts the heartbroken, the punishment that help children know right and wrong, the smile that cheers the lonely soul.
True love can't be captured, but it can roost in a nest, the hearts of those who aspire to love others with a true love.
This all comes to her as she drinks in the sweetness of the holiday, within her mug, and everywhere around her. There is a warmth that comes with christmas, a special glow that just makes her feel good inside, like she's wrapped in a fuzzy blanket in front of a fire, while the world outside is cold, she is warm.
Maybe the warmth is love. The love from her family, from her friends, and from the God that came down to earth to give his life for love.
Yes. That's it.
The chocolate leaves a mustache. She looks down at the pages. Catherine and Heathcliff got it wrong.
Love isn't something that'll burn you up or destroy you.
Love sustains you, its the backbone that holds up our lives.
She leans back and stares and the gray solemn sky outside.
"Glad they're wrong."
Have a wonderful week, and tell me what you think of this story-like way of posting :)