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Dearest Diary,
I took a long walk today on my own through a garden, wanting time alone to tend to my own thoughts. I am no fancier of romance, but on my walk I happened across young lovers. I must admit, I felt...something. It was not envy, but I feel as though it was something akin to that. I watched them in secret, though I know that I shouldn’t have as it was a private moment. I watched as their fingers intertwined and they locked each other in a passionate embrace. I watched on and their whispered words and soft giggling could faintly be heard, though what they said, I could not say. It seemed like something indulgent, really... To have such love and to display it like fine dress, but they were not in the public eye faulting it. It was just for them.
I felt suddenly very confused. I wondered, dear diary, what the point of something was that you only had for some one person but not for others to see. What value comes from such actions? I felt very lost trying to understand the value in something that cannot be bought. My mother would say it is because I haven’t ever allowed myself to fall in love and feel those feelings, but how can you give yourself to someone that way for nothing? Is the purpose of everything we do not to gain something from it?
And yet, I found myself wondering to, what such love must feeling like. What does love taste like? What might the lips of another taste like? What does it feel like to be in such an embrace? Like silk on your skin? Might it taste like honey on your tongue? What is so special about the love between two bodies that people desire it so much? That people give so much to have it and risk shame and poverty for it? What is so wonderful about it that people are willing to give into it when they know that losing it will break their heart? I doubt I will ever know, but frankly, dairy, I’m not sure I ever want to.
