like a child...
she grew anxious at the possibility of appearing thankless to him; she grew anxious to feel his affection for others, selflessly envious as she truly was. she remembered those moments which had probably faded in his memory, but had come alive as he had marvelled, in his loneliness, how he had touched her heart without perhaps intending to. he got a strange sad feeling when he noticed that she seemed to know him inside, and he didn't know hiself that well.

this is not a feeling of love they share, neither would they perhaps want to, well I don't really know that... but there certainly is a bliss, a delight, a profound satisfaction that makes itself felt, when somebody cares, and you realize that you indeed are existent, in the fullest of your forms.

and then there seem to be these rules that have been engineered, and can perhaps be ruthlessly called optimal and practical... they by no means touch the bounds of the realm of those profund emotions which go far beyond the capacity of man himself to harness and fathom; feeling them deep inside is a bliss and comprehension shall perhaps destroy the marvel.

i feel tired sometimes. blissfully tired.


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