Idiosyncratic Inamorata

Oh how quisical the nature of amity! Does one ever really dare to say they posess the emotion itself? Who can charge that they have perceived real love, that they are adroit in its ways, its eccentricity? The very ideal of giving over ones own excitability to another is in itself ludicris! All its facets are no more than farcical imaginings of people who previously had been utterly logical. Emotion entangled within that of another being can only lead to heartbreak, the very dejection of the soul. And yet- yet there is more to this idea of relinquishing the sum of your heart to another. Forsaking your own rationality to accept the neurosis of another. There is much more to it, to the phonenomia of love. There is the blissful intoxication that it gives to its hosts. The utter wholeness that to each in turn is filled. As if the whole of the universe and everything in it just may revolve on one being. On one individual. That one person that to you, in your eyes, filles the relative shoes of the world. Of every hope, dream, and desire that ever was and ever will be. Allowing that one to become your everything. Giving to them your whole, your everything. Is it worth it? Mayhap only time can tell, only experience can make one wise, only exposure can give the answer.