She loves me and she’s just perfect for me.
Really?
His mind vacillated between these two extremes. How can he be sure about what SHE wanted?
Stendhal wrote in “On love” in 1822 about this doubt and said this was what perpetuates love life. For past seven years, he struggled to understand this simple concept which had been widely circulated in the web and in books. He read a lot of books but he hadn’t read the books he should have. How could he have known this? At this point in his life, his mind had only acquired this: a strange ability to phrase the confusion in form of a question, which can be looked upon. Before this, his mind was a complicated Sudoku or tough Zigsaw puzzle and of course, he wasn’t any good at both of those things. So, when he opened the book, he was roughly 200 years late. Better late than never, right? What is love then? Love is like dying while living and living while dying: the moment of bliss will be followed by frustration. This momentary bliss is the life, he seemed to be telling us. He enumerated different phases of love: admiration, acknowledgement, hope, delight, first crystallization, doubt, and second crystallization. If these different phases of love would have followed the same pattern, life would have been easy. He had this doubt that what would happen if these phases either cyclic like life cycle of parasite or these phases were out of order and worse, what if his words might mean a totally different thing tomorrow.
His doubts amplified and frustration grew. He wasn’t sure anymore.
She loves me and she’s just perfect for me.
Really?
His mind vacillated between these two extremes. How can he be sure about what HE wanted?
