Philosophy of love
It was one of those cold February moonless night, light drizzle throbbing in the quite dark street with barely breathing light from the lamppost in the street. My day started even before I opened my eyes. I had the feeling that it was just before dawn when I saw her. I don’t remember her face but I remember her curves and edges quite vividly. I believe she was playing with me. She wanted me as much as I wanted her, maybe more. She understands very well that the anticipation makes the pleasure more intense. She wanted me to open my eyes so that she could look into my eyes. I just wanted to drink the wine from her eyes. She’s quite a romantic. She herself knew that she was just delaying the inevitable. She didn’t close the door on her way out of the dark and damp room. It felt as I woke up from a deep slumber she was standing in front of me. As she saw me opening my eyes she walked towards me in the dark room with a little bit of light coming from the small window on my left, near the head of my bed. I was lying on the left side of the bed, my usual spot, closest to the window. She came closer to me with a smile wearing on her lips. Her walk had a look of remembrance. All I could see was her lips in the little light, thin and natural. As she approached me, the lips grew wider. She leaned on me just enough that I could feel her warm scent on my lips. I inhaled deeply, cherishing every moment with my closed eyes. She put her left hand on the right side of my head on the white soft pillow, with her left knee brushing against my left leg covered by a white sheet which I probably would’ve taken it because of the cold but at that moment when I was feeling her breath on the top of my nose and lips, I was feeling anything but cold. She tilted her head to her right and just the top of her wet upper lip touched mine. My eyes closed themselves naturally but I could see her smile broadly. As I was about to raise my head to kiss her, she withdrew from me and ran to the door. I followed her with my eyes as she approached the door. Her thin body dancing in the air. She stopped, her whole back to me. She looked back at me with her right hand on the door. The intense light was coming from outside through the opened door. Strangely, not a speck of light was entering the room. It felt like the light was made only to beautify her and all I could see was the silhouette of her whole body with clear curves and edges. I could still feel her smile. Still looking back at me she advanced her right hand towards me and signaled with her four fingers, tilting her face to the side of the door to follow her. And then I realized that it was her own light that was calling me. She moved away leaving the door open for me. Just an inch of our lips touched and I felt two universes colliding.
It had started raining heavily, with rain banging on my window. I was still lying looking outside the window. The room smelled of dust and water, a mixture of two different things forming a one perfect being bringing the fragrance of a known body. I think the rain was rejoicing knowing that I’ve finally realized what I’ve been looking for everywhere. And I woke up. There is a smile on my lips, and it isn’t my own. I am still lying on my bed, on the left side of it, just like always, holding a deep conversation with my heart. Let’s see what surfaces from the depths of this sea, let’s see what color the blue-sky changes into, the heart said. I guess everyone close to me understands my dream. I touch the empty place beside me on the bed and it was still warm- a familiar warmness. My tears are banging on the door of my eyes. It is daybreak, and the world of nature is becoming more beautiful with my own tears. I still know nothing about her, not even her whereabouts. But now I know the biggest thing about her with which I could recognize her anywhere, because now I know my lover’s lips. I wouldn’t be anxious anymore, nor helpless because I have a great responsibility on my shoulder, someone not that far away waits for my lips too. Now you are a Lover, not the one who laments but the one who carries both worlds in his hands. The valley of love is a long way away, and yet, at times, the journey of a hundred years is covered in a sigh. It’s the same day, but a new morning, the heart whispered. I look out of the window and new life is born. Winter is over and songs of life have come out among the branches again. That night will come again, washed clean with the moonlight and we shall whisper again with the gestures of our eyes. In the ambiguous dark shade of her hair once again her beauty will adorn the night. I inhaled my room deeply which smelled of my dream and reality, and whispered, “I am coming…”
I am a boy with scattered memories
I never felt so haunted in my life.
Slowly, a silent breeze began to blow
bringing the fragrance from the holy place.
The flickering of lights
the calling of birds
the freshness of grass
the silence of autumn leaves.
Every road, every path, every step
leads me towards you.
The breezes at dawn
ever so silently
always brought me back to you
in the cage of my heart
to the beauty of this small world.
Even after all these years
a part of me still lives here
in the center of these four walls
with no roof and an infinite space.
Looking at the infinity makes me a wanderer
roaming in the corridors
like a ghost with bones.
searching for the lost memory
searching for the essence of those carefree days
searching for answers;
from the empty benches and ancient trees.
Always searching. Roaming. Wandering
until these four walls and I become one.
A truly awakened soul…
A student wishes to ask his beloved to dance, but she refuses, saying she would only accept if he brought her a red rose. It so happened that in the place where the student lived, all the roses were yellow or white.
The nightingale heard the conversation. Seeing his sorrow, she decided to help the poor boy. First, she thought of singing something beautiful, but soon concluded that it would be much worse-in addition to being alone, he would be melancholy.
A passing butterfly asked what was going on.
“He is suffering for love. He needs to find a red rose.”
“How ridiculous to suffer for love,” said the butterfly.
But the nightingale was determined to help him. In the middle of a huge garden there was a rosebush full of roses.
“Give me a red rose, please.” But the rosebush said it was impossible, and for him to find another-its roses were once red, but now they had become white. The nightingale did as she was told. She flew far away and found the old rosebush.
“I need a red flower,” she asked.
“I’m too old for that” was the answer.
“The winter has chilled my veins, the sun faded my petals.”
“Just one,” begged the nightingale.
“There must be a way!” Yes, there was a way. But it was so terrible that she did not want to tell.
“I’m not afraid. Tell me what I can do to get a red rose. A single red rose.”
“Come back at night and sing the most beautiful melody that nightingales know while pressing your breast against one of my thorns. The blood will rise through my sap and color the rose.”
And the nightingale did that that night, convinced it was worth sacrificing her life in the name of Love. As soon as the moon appeared she pressed her breast against the thorn and began to sing. Firs she sang of man and a woman who fall in love. Then how love justifies any sacrifice. And so, as the moon crossed the sky, the nightingale sang and the most beautiful rose of the rosebush was being crimsoned by her blood.
“Faster,” said the rosebush at one point.
“The sun will rise soon.”
The nightingale pressed her breast closer still and at that moment the thorn reached her heart. Still, she continued to sing until the word was complete. Exhausted, and knowing she was about to die, she took the most beautiful of all the red roses and went to give it to the student. She arrived at his window, stet down the flower, and died.
The student heard the noise, opened the window, and there was the thing he had dreamed of most in the world. The sun was rising; he took the rose and raced off to the house of his beloved.
“Here’s what you asked of me,” he said, sweating and happy at the same time.
“It is not exactly what I wanted,” answered the girl. “It is too big and will overshadow my dress. Besides, I have received another proposal for the ball tonight.”
Distraught, the boy left and threw the rose into the gutter, where it was immediately crushed by a passing carriage, and he returned to his books, which had never asked him for anything he could not provide.
That was my life; I am the nightingale who gave everything and died while doing so.
—Manuscript from The Spy by Paulo Coelho
Once there was a beautiful princess who was admired and feared by all because she seemed to be too independent. Her name was Psyche.
Desperate his daughter would wind up a spinster, her father appealed to the god Apollo, who decided to solve the problem: She was to go alone, in mourning dress, to the top of a mountain. Before dawn, a serpent would come to marry her.
The father did what Apollo ordered, and to the top of the mountain she went. Terrified and freeing cold, she went to sleep, certain she would die. However, the next day she awoke in a beautiful palace, having been turned into a queen. Each night her husband came to meet her, but he demanded she obey one single condition: to fully trust in him and never see his face.
After a few months together, she was in love with him, whose name was Eros. She loved their conversations, found great pleasure in their lovemaking, and was treated with all the respect she deserved. At the same time, she feared being married to a horrible serpent.
One day, no longer able to control her curiosity, she waited for her husband to fall asleep, gently moved the sheet aside, and with the light of a candle saw the face of a man of incredible beauty. But light awakened him, and realizing his wife had not been able to be true to his only request, Eros disappeared.
Each time I recall this myth, I wonder: Are we never to be able to see the true face of love? And I understand what the Greeks meant by this: Love is an act of faith and its face should always be covered in mystery. Every moment should be lived with the feeling and emotion because if we try to decipher it and understand it, the magic disappears. We follow its winding and luminous paths, we let ourselves go to the highest peak or the deepest seas, but we trust in the hand that leads us. if we do not allow ourselves to be frightened, we will always awaken in a palace; if we fear the steps that will be required by love and want it to reveal everything to us, the result is that we will be left with nothing.
—Manuscript from The Spy by Paulo Coelho
Will you still love me the same
When the winter starts to snow,
and the wolf starts to howl,
under the moonlit of deserted street,
full of horror, full of terror.
Will you stay with me in my dreams,
till the dawn,
hands in hands,
staring into your eyes,
silencing all my demons,
dancing on our own under the light of lamppost,
till the night falls off,
and the dawn reclaims its throne.
You don’t know how much I need you,
whispering your name in my dream,
hoping you could silent me up, by
pressing your lips against mine,
and a silent joy of hearing you whisper ‘more’
Will you still love me the same
When my hands grow old,
and they start to tremble,
when they miss the touch of your skin,
and ache for your love,
remembering the night of our youth,
warm with the passion of our sweet love.
Will you still love me the same
When my bones start to crumble,
When my body turns to ashes,
I cannot promise you that I’ll rise from the ashes, or
from the ashes of the ashes.
But I promise you that,
I’ll be there with you,
In the golden pearl of dawn,
touching your naked skin with my hands.
In the wind that crawls through your clothes,
taking the scent of your body with me.
In the fallen leaves of autumn,
which will kiss your bare feet with its rusted lips.
In the dark streets of twilight,
protecting you like a silhouette shadow.
In the smell of blooming spring,
putting smile across your ripe lips.
In the waves of ocean,
flowing and flowing.
In the emptiness of nothingness,
untrodden path in search of adventure.
In the warmth of snowflakes,
bringing peace in your life.
Will you still love me the same
When nothing lasts forever,
Will you be my nothing?
March 6, 1994
My Darling Catherine,
Where are you? And why, I wonder as I sit alone in a darkened house, have we been forced apart? I don’t know the answer to these questions, no matter how hard I try to understand. The reason is plain, but my mind forces me to dismiss it and I am torn by anxiety in all my waking hour. I am lost without you. I am soulless, a drifter without a home. a solitary bird in a flight to nowhere. I am all these things, and I am nothing at all. This, my darling, is my life without you. I long for you to show me how to live again.
I try to remember the way we once were, on the breezy deck of Happenstance. Do you recall how we worked on her together? We became a part of the ocean as we rebuilt her, for we both knew it was the ocean that brought us together. It was times like those that I understood the meaning of true happiness. At night, we sailed on blackened water and I watched as the moonlight reflected your beauty. I would watch you with awe and know in my heart that we’d be together forever. is it always that way, I wonder, when two people are in love? I don’t know, but if my life since you were taken from me is any indication, then I think I know the answers. From now on, I know I will be alone.
I think of you, I dream of you, I conjure you up when I need you most. This is all I can do, but to me it isn’t enough. It will never be enough, this I know; yet what else is there for me to do? If you were here, you would tell me, but I have been cheated of even that. You always knew the proper words to ease the pain I felt. You always knew how to make me feel good inside.
Is it possible that you know how I feel without you? When I dream, I like to think you do. Before we came together, I moved through life without meaning, without reason. I know that somehow, every step I took since the moment I could walk ways a step toward finding you. We were destined to be together.
But now; alone in my house, I have come to realize that destiny can hurt a person as much as it can bless him, and I find myself wondering why—out of all the people in all the world, I could ever have loved—I had to fall in love with someone who was taken away from me.
—Manuscript from Message in a bottle by Nicholas Sparks
July 22, 1997
My Dearest Catherine,
I miss you, my darling, as I always do, but today is especially hard because this ocean has been singing to me, and the song is that of our life together. I can almost feel you beside me as I write this letter, and I can smell the scent of wildflowers that always reminds me of you. But at this moment, these things give me no pleasure. Your visits have been coming less often, and I feel sometimes as if the greatest past of who I am is slowly slipping away.
I am trying, though. At night when I am alone, I long for you, and whenever my ache seems to be the greatest, you still seem to find a way to return to me. last night, in my dreams, I saw you on the pier near Wrightsville Beach. The wind was blowing through your hair, and your eyes held the fading sunlight. I am struck as I see you leaning against the rail. You are beautiful, I think as I see you, a vision that I can never find in anyone else. I slowly begin to walk toward you, and when you finally turn to me, I notice that others have been watching you as well. “Do you know her?” they ask me in jealous whispers, and as you smile at me, I simply answer with the truth. “Better than my own heart.”
I stop when I reach you and take you in my arms. I long for this moment more than any other. It is what I live for, and when you return my embrace, I give myself over to this moment, at peach once again.
I raise my hand and gently touch your cheek, and you tilt your head and close your eyes. My hands are hard and your skin is soft, and I wonder for a moment if you’ll pull back, but of course you don’t. you never have, and it is at times like this that I know what my purpose is in life.
I am here to love you, to hold you in my arms, to protect you. I am here to learn from you and to receive your love in return. I am here because there is no other place to be.
But then, as always, the mist starts to form, as we stand close to one another. It is a distant fog that rises from the horizon, and I find that I grow fearful as it approaches. It slowly creeps In, enveloping the world around us, fencing us in as if to prevent escape. Like a rolling cloud, it blankets everything, closing, until there is nothing left but the two of us.
I feel my throat begin to close and my eyes well up with tears because I know it is time for you to go. The look you give me at that moment haunts me. I feel your sadness and mow loneliness, and, the ache in my heart that had been silent for only a short time grows stronger as you release me. and then you spread your arms and step back, into the fog because it is your place and not mine. I long to go with you, but your only response is to shake your head because we both know that is impossible.
And I watch with breaking heart as you slowly fade away. I find myself straining to remember everything about this moment, everything about you. But soon, always too soon, your image vanishes and the god rolls back to its faraway place and I am alone on the pier and I do not care what others think as I bow my head and cry and cry and cry.
-Manuscript from Message in a bottle by Nicholas Sparks