 anon 2/21/01 . chapter 1 I love reptitiveness in poetry; it's what I thrive on: repeated verses, stanzas . . .the whole lot. There's a wonderful running theme thruoght this poem of rejected and unknown love. This is the kind of love that hurts the most. I'm not talking about love that my sister frivolously calls so, because that isn't love at all.It's pettty childishness, not covered up. When you think about it however, love is always childish. There are degrees of childishness in it, too. The kind of love that makes you think of loyalty,closeness, and eternity makes for something less childish than a crush of younger years.To tell you the truth, I've never liked love or undying affection. I hate writing about it most of all. It's like writing about something frivolous, a feeling that's only temporary. You can only feel so much love. I like, however, the sadness in love, and how it's bitter sweet. The things I love most in life are things I hate and love at the same time. I think, even if unconsciencely, other people do as well. There is nothing more gratifying then writing a long entry in a journal after being so sad that you feel that your very soul is tearing apart, because it makes you more human, more alive. Get what I mean? Have I scared you completely? ;; |