Stephen Fry wrote, as the man often does, beautifully on the act of falling in love. And loath as I am to appear lazy, it's worth quoting here, almost in full:
"And then...
And then I saw him and nothing was ever the same again.
The sky was never the same colour, the moon never the same shape: the air never smelt the same, food never tasted the same. Every word I knew changed its meaning, everything that once was stable and firm became as insubstantial as a puff of wind, and every puff of wind became a solid thing I could feel and touch."
And do you know what? He is absolutely, totally right.
I am telling you this, dear blog, because only those I've already told or whom I don't care to know anyway will read it. The world, for me, has entirely changed shape and colour and texture. I've always had good friends- hell, great ones- I've always had hobbies, humour, work, enjoyment. I have, bar a few times, been solid in my validation and complete in my will to be alive. But this is something different. This is something that questions the very idea of validity, and doubts that solidness really needs to exist. It speaks of depths and ions of absolute, untold beauty, of bliss, and asks for no reason or purpose for its existence. Art, as Oscar said, is useless. So is love. But that's precisely what makes it wonderful.
Every movement in my body has changed purpose, every thought has centred around a new sun. I don't know if its sheer agony or otherworldly euphoria- words cease to matter. There, as I often say, just is. And to me, right now, there is just him.
Have some Kozelek shaped music. Got a new guitar yesterday, and I'm naming it Koz. That says a lot, considering I don't go in for that whole "name your guitar" business.
Tread lightly, for you tread on my dreams,
S.xxx
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