My gentle sir

My gentle sir, I do appreciate your kind manners, and I do respect your sentiments, but there is no agony greater than the agony of the agony itself!

There is no sentiment that surpass the non-passionate life lived; the lack of love in all ones actions; its tormenting and unfair. Regardless of all there is, not be able to feel a little excitement for the little things that should not be cared, it would be like poising ones spirit and mercifulness take the right to live life in its fullest anxiety.

You speak about this love and lovers, sweet tender desires, queens and kings, fantastic future, unnatural absurd events that do give pleasure to my ears; you possess this confident words in your sugary language, but I don’t seem to follow you, I don’t trust your guide, not that me myself don’t have the eager to live passionately all dreams, but it is that, where is this love? I don’t sense it, I could not touch it, I can hear your kind words my sir, but they are just like a frustrated dull mass for my being.

Whereas a man, surely, should know about everything; excel in a multitude of activities, introduce you to passion in all its force, to life in all its grace, initiate you in all mysterious!

Oh my good sir, I do content the willing of be taken over the ground into the marvelous of the non existence magic. Do understand, my brave man, I would not bear live in the constant agony from the knowledge that I succumbed myself into boredom and monotony.

Nevertheless those are my naïve desires; to wonder what life meant the words ‘bliss’, ‘passion’, ‘ecstasy’; to be able to feel this love that there is; not to breath among these insignificant routine events; to be the heroine of my own fiction.

Let me go at once!