Let the horses of your imagination run in the forests of thought and creativity. Ride them and seek your freest dreams, your wildest fantasies. Let the ancient myth come true. Let your Pygmalion come back into being.
There she stands, a statue of a woman of unparalleled beauty. You would want to kiss her, to bring her into life. You may want to spell her, to fall in love with you. But you fall in love with her first. You fell in love with the perfect woman woven by the threads of your fine imagination, sculptured by the hands of a truly talented craftsman. You fell in love with a beauty statue.
When you see some sort of beauty you become half-blinded: your eyes are taken away, but your consciousness is still there. But when that object of beauty reacts with you, you become totally blinded, for your eyes and consciousness all fall under the mercy of admiration, sensation, expectation, subordination, prostration! And when life flows through the marble veins of such ideal work of distinction, it is only a matter of time before being stabbed by the ivory daggers of love and affection. What are the odds that a perfect statue like her would love an imperfect human being like you?! It is true that her beauty is your creation, but a statue eventually loves but another statue, and there you would lie, bleeding drops of not blood, but frustration and desperation. Broken, though in flesh, not marble.
When you see some sort of beauty you become half-blinded: your eyes are taken away, but your consciousness is still there. But when that object of beauty reacts with you, you become totally blinded, for your eyes and consciousness all fall under the mercy of admiration, sensation, expectation, subordination, prostration! And when life flows through the marble veins of such ideal work of distinction, it is only a matter of time before being stabbed by the ivory daggers of love and affection. What are the odds that a perfect statue like her would love an imperfect human being like you?! It is true that her beauty is your creation, but a statue eventually loves but another statue, and there you would lie, bleeding drops of not blood, but frustration and desperation. Broken, though in flesh, not marble.
You have created a masterpiece of art, almost human, but she is not. Nothing but a cold-hearted beauty statue of marble and ivory. Some may think you are being judgmental, and others may think you are so sentimental. And they are right, but only half-right. For you will find that you already abandoned the 'senti-' and the 'judge' and left them all to the others, to follow, to decide, while taking with you only the 'mental' part, for the mind shall be your only trusted companion.
The eyes can be fooled, the senses can be cheated, but the mind stays, more resistant, and less vulnerable.
The eyes can be fooled, the senses can be cheated, but the mind stays, more resistant, and less vulnerable.
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