S.Kierkegaard, Le Journal du seducteur.
point of rupture was reached, where we stood at the closest.
I am the eternal maiden... so light and indecisive, ready to flare up, be captivated. Flying there. And really... noone believes me when, after being misunderstood, I have to rectify that really I do not know that I am seeking for something from someone. Because I am not: someone doesn't exist, and I don't know what I want from anybody but there he was... That one, the only one I wouldnt' want to expect anything from, but who has everything and with the sense of its worth wouldn't disperse it to the unworthy. Each of us recognized and chosen. Despite a great rigueur. But was I wrong if it led to a volte-face. The terrible beauty of the sharp. Bringing softness in me. I am offering my side to truth. I trust, I love intelligence more than trust and love. I wear on my left hand a roman Athena crowning... I am the one who makes sacred. The recognition of greatness sings the choir. Listen. I am losing myself again. The girl is a being want to be small and smaller. With a great and greater sense of the rare. Inspiring awe. My heart threatened built a castle. A kingdom to be. A wider splendor. For an ideal found between two.
I am a mystique then?
Nothing is real I breathe nothing. I sit on an ideal chair. I create a divinity to fly with and fly. All this state I created for myself... scarce encouraged? No... I slowly was turning to him, rising, appearing, confirmed through correspondances and affinities. Why alone now I only hold an impression.
And I know I shan't be distracted now. But concentrate, now that I start to find confidence in my own creation. Cease to be a child, gazing through time. My vision can't be seen yet. Now is the time. Come on.
A monastery in Scotland. Simple bedrooms smelling wood. A choir. Outside, drizzly green hills and the sense of being close to the shore.