with every love comes questions of whether or not you are true for one another. with sarah, i once used the term 'loath' inappropriately, telling her, "i loath you," believing it to mean a sincere and extremity of love. i realized afterward, quite soon afterward, and that instance has carried itself rather far within this cave of thought.
the reason i say that is, just now, i believed myself wrong in using the term 'enamored' with Diana, and, though i somehow felt it was the core of feeling, i was unsure as to its true and proper meaning. having found the word to be, at root, "to inspire with love; captivate," i believe there may be a meaning to this i'm not yet aware of. perhaps, as my mind works in opposites and intervals of sparse recognition and sporadic order, perhaps i've found to be in love with sarah and quite distended with Diana, though i know not why, other than a lack of knowledge of her physical life. that plays heavy on this soul, as the lack of knowledge of attendees at an arena may play heavy on the flow of a battle amongst those on a court.. the constant sway of banter, chatter, chants and raddled spectators an almost overwhelming flush of thought for warriors who would, without hesitance, be completely fine otherwise, if no such media were represented, or internalized fight found to match the aggression upon the floor. bad analogy. i don't know her intentions, nor her abilities to carry out those intentions, nor her desire to. i know what she allows me, that she will always be smiling, in some way, and, if not, i shall allow her the pleasure to. it's hard, being so distant, so– away– from her, with but the strokings of a key'd board and the wit split-forth, a try of protection, and a try of progression. one knows not how far one may go to be within the company of another, but one may fight, may give and take all given, to know another in ways uncomprehended by the distance, by the lack of physical structure to a relationship.. even if topped and seeping forth great amounts of feeling, those feelings are but placed upon a screen, electrically charged, both from mind, from body, and from socket and cable. this nose twitches to beg me find an answer, or is it to show me i already know and need a question? it's stopped. i must have said something wrong. you're still there, though, enlighting me. the pressure, the collapse of thought upon itself, drives a longing deep within the pit of being to expose and let wade within the breathe'ings of these souls your quest within my vessel, tied tightly with your goals
underestimated, as not human may feel without distance or inclusion, great observer they may be
