The Voice of Her

The First Chapter, an exploration of love and life.

I sometimes wonder if this is truly life. The repititon, the monotony of routine. I cannot believe that I have become this person. It is frightening. I have achieved so little; I wonder if it is simply apathy. The apathy to remain the same; it is the most frightening thing. I cannot change for anyone but myself. For him, for her, it is self ish of them to think I would do that for them.

 

Life is but a routine to me; school, writing and friends seem so distant. I cannot help but become lost in the thoughts of trepidation and love, exploring the dark avenues where the guardian of life has not crossed. When I think of Her, I smile. I know not the reason. In the dark black heart which I possess, I am saddened. It is when I think of Her that I plunged into the depths of the abyss, lost in the darkness of this eternal hell.

 

Like life itself, she seems untouchable. She seems untouchable. I know this is not the truth. The dark crevices of this brain know it. I just desire it  to be so. I sometimes ask this question; what if? What if I touched Her? What if I explored Her? What if I ventured to cross the boundaries before me? In my mind, I know her innocence is gone. It has been stolen...or lost. I know not which. I dare not ask. She is the invisible one, the ghost of Love. I love her because of that. It is because she is untouchable.

 

Plato once believed that innocence is what men loved of women. It was the reason that men sought virgins in this sexual adventures. W****s and harlots are but objects of desire, according to Plato. I never did understand such an evaluation. When I see Her, I see perfection. She is what I am not. She is perfect. Of course, I fear to speak such words. This is but a mere trial, the wanderings of the mind. I would never speak of such a confession. I fear a refute.

 

The heart is the curse I possess. I cannot silence its voice. I can do nothing but listen to its cries of desperation, attempting to murder the soul with a lack of emotion. It continues regardless. In this heart I possess, I see Her. She is perfect. It is how I see Her. In my mind's eye, I see not Her perfection but Her body. She is mine. She is naked, adorned with beautiful red petals. I can love her with the passion of men, the lust of a gentleman.

She cries out to me. Do I answer her call?