To My Lord...

If you are an avid reader of English Literature then it is hard to be alone.Different writers and their thoughts will always accompany you.Sylvia Plath can arouse the dark erotic desires, Sartre and Camus can inject fear by telling you harsh realities and absurdities of life.You can feel intoxicated by reading Bronte sisters.You can feel anything once you peep into the world of literature.

Am I sounding mad?

You feel different dimensions of love.What actually love is? 

It is a strange thing.You feel a sudden eruption of emotions and then it sinks.This is the point where you have to prove that you are in love.Being in love and being in a sane state of mind are two different things and if in both conditions, you feel the same compassion for him, then it is true love.

I feel the same compassion for him.I love.

It is not lying awake at night imagining that he is kissing every part of your body. No … don’t blush. I am telling you some truths. For that is just being in love; which any of us can convince ourselves we are. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away. Doesn’t sound very exciting, does it? But it is!

So, you, my Lord! 

My passion doesn't burn away.It stays.It is as fresh as I started feeling for you.It will remain the same and you have my words.

Love.