Her Page 12: Part II of “A Dissent into Love”

Previously: “I have only ever loved one person”

“I wanted to love her with every grain of sand, every blade of grass, and with every single strand of everything.” -TheDying psychopath

I denied this part of my life for the longest of times because I found it to be a weakness to have loved someone. I cannot tell you if I still do. My love for her is similar to the love that Sherlock Holmes had for Irene Adler. She did not encompass all of womanhood like Irene Adler did for Mr. Holmes, but I shared the unique encounter with love that he did.

In her there was everything. I could stare into her eyes and see scenic beauties that turned a glance into an awkward stare. For me she embodied innocence. For me she was the prime example of beauty although physically she was not the most attractive. It did not matter.

As I mentioned earlier, what drew my attention to her was her innocence. All the people I met before were so typical and rarely anyone deviated any degree from the social norms of idiocy and self-consciousness. Everyone was the same putrid grey that surrounded my environment until I met this one person. She was such a bright orange that it made my environment completely black and white in comparison to her colors. The grey that surrounded me burned to a pitch black in comparison to the overwhelming contrast between them and her.

I was not able to tell at first, it was only through time that I was able to realize the rare treasure that she was, like a rare gem among coal and grime. She did not care about how people perceived her. She was kind to her core. There was no deceit with her. She was carefree and meticulous at the same time. She was complex like the most ornate and divine paintings, sculptures, and poems. A truly upper-class paragon that all should devote themselves to follow. She was graceful and barbaric. Gentle and harsh. She effortlessly balanced between two extremities and created a concoction of excellence for every person that she encountered and she did this all so plainly.

In the midst of her complexity I found simplicity. Like how a great symphony ties itself together and silences itself to a simple tune that destroys the heart and soul.
She lived by a simple code and the code was so obvious but at the same time it was so rare and beautiful. Her code was of simply spreading joy. And yet, like the professional she was so skilled that her code evolved into art. I was so engulfed by her because of her artistry. She so effortlessly existed in her world of elegance.
Even her weaknesses, strangely to me, were nothing but delightful distractions. She would coil into a ball of self-consciousness because of them. And however ironic it was that I viewed her self-conscious state to be charming when I find it to be the most repulsive feature that a human can have, it still compelled me to a loving awe. This was because she was so true and to me she embodied the archetype of humanity and beauty.

She made me want to learn to become a better man. An Inamorato for my inamorata.

Out of all this, there was one thing that I strived for the most. Her laugh. The most beautiful sounds came from her laughter. Much of my purpose was found in making her smile because such a resounding warmth would fluctuate from her and make me feel such a climactic high that I very much became addicted to her smiles and laughter. There was so much I wanted to do with her but I was so limited.

In my supreme interest I became protective. Our relationship started with me teasing and, quite frankly, insulting her. But when my revelation came to me, I found myself to be overwhelmingly protective over her. Reminding her of her beauty and such things became part of my day-to-day vernacular. I loved her with all that I had and to me it was not enough. I wanted to love her with every grain of sand, every blade of grass, and with every single strand of everything. Likewise, my emotions swayed with her. I gave my emotions to her and I would find my happiness dependent on her own. My dignity meant nothing to me as long as she was happy.

I would likewise, take every opportunity to be with her or in her presence. Like a drug I needed my dosage of time spent with her. I could tell you all the times that I spent with her doing the most trivial things but peaking in contentedness and the rare instances when she said the most poetic things to me that filled my heart to its brim.
And yet, she did not love me as I did.