Constance and Alexander Introduction

CONSTANCE’S JOURNAL

No Date, Random Note

Love acts on us all. It binds our insides, unites ends ripped asunder by anger, hate or loss, it gives hope where none was previously. Love propels us; filled with ignorance and fear, to the course of its choosing.

Love is strange and familiar all at once. From afar it is known and knowable, we recognize it on the other’s face, we feel it as they feel it, yet once scrutinized and dissected by questions, and hazed by logic, love becomes a weird thing. It’s elemental small parts do not make sense, its binding force invisible, and the truth of its existence contrary to macro version we all want to have. It becomes a mere aberration of the human conscience – the human condition. It is quantum dissonance with an ultimate truth unknowable but to our feelings and emotions.

Love is the dome we all live under; its stars sparkling in the darkness of its expanse, giving us wonder and a sense that all is not as simple, finite and fated as we wish it all to be.

Love caresses the body then flies up to fall feather-like down, but never lands. Instead it is swept up by a glancing breeze again and tossed and swirled and in the chaos love may find the bottom. Yet like energy, love cannot be destroyed, only altered so it may once again glide and surf the emotions of those who write of it: love. Like so, it moves the pen in my hand.

Love animates me, gives me strength greater than any other reason or force, and measures my grief as a lone woman wondering among the ruins of a passing world.