He determined after a long and arduous road to perdition on the disease of so called love that if one is to pursue the road to hell one has to believe the path is real.
Somehow the drug of feeling absolutely impassioned by the swamp of love made him feel like a willing prisoner, because a prisoner he most certainly was. She would never take him back, he thought, but yet he revelled in the existence of the possibility to pursue her to death. The intoxication certainly preceded any logic, which at this point had no meaning for John. Desperation quietly spreads like a virus and brings to fruition the ultimate sacrifice, which lovers, it seems, take on willingly to end a never ending suffering.
They had not had contact for eternity and John denied the end had come and gone. Jasmine was her name and for John what preceded her beauty was her presence which dispelled any doubts as to the meaning of his existence without her. Jasmine was a necessary completion to the meaning of his life which without her would have no meaning or purpose.
They had met by chance, and Jasmine was enthralled and curious at first by the impression that John had implanted in her. It was summer in Naples at the time and their paths crossed at seemingly just the right time for them both. All lonely travellers dream of meeting their soul mate on the road to adventure and for John and Jasmine it was a mutual and ecstatic climax which they instinctively knew was destiny. That first day they could not avoid each other at the hostel they were staying at. They seemed to run into each other constantly and both of them were enjoying the constant game of hide and seek which they were both doing to extremes.
That first night John made his move. He was nervous, but somehow his psyche demanded satisfaction for the unquenched thirst for Jasmine. He invited her to explore the city with him. Jasmine feigned doubt quite convincingly but she could not deny her attraction to his voice, his shoulders, his mannerisms, his eyes...
That night was pivotal to the birth of a most promising and congenial relationship which joined polarities of extreme difference with love, a drug which lovers love to intoxicate their hearts with, with tragic consequences being the outcome sometimes. It is a price to pay for the occasional tragedy which both lovers knowingly and willingly sacrifice themselves for.
The night gave birth to a promiscuous curiosity which they both had a voracious penchant for, especially that night. The beauty in her eyes and how her fingers flowed and caressed him so seductively while deeply kissing him, expressing her desires, made him feel somewhat helpless and enslaved. A prison which enslaved him and one he did not want to escape from, which was a gift he so greatly desired. A sacrifice he willingly ensnared himself in. Her kisses, he thought, willingly ensnared in the beauty of her kisses
Slowly their time together flowed like a silent river, peacefully enthralled in a golden silence which, for a second, makes its presence known, then the beauty of the moment ends just as fast as its inception. Eight months came and went for John and Jasmine and they slowly came to realize that their rose would someday wilt.
Jasmine departed late that year and John spent his final day with her encased in sorrow for what he was about to lose. Jasmine floundered helplessly from the pain which undoubtedly protruded from her heart which she sacrificed for John. They exchanged everything about each other to each other that final day, and then as the sun set, she was gone.
John wept, and could not bear her absence. He promised himself that very night that he would one day, once again, revive their love; the sun would rise once more. Illusions by their very nature are sweet, he thought, but this could never be an illusion. This was meant to be; the universe demanded it be brought back to bring balance and, with that, a peace to die for.
Many letters, written with a wound that would not heal, were written. He to her, and her to him. The letters were a physical part of them both. They shared intimacies of which they became encrusted with, for, as lovers, this was all they could share with one another. John lived with constant fantasies of having her in his arms and kissing her passionately. He could kiss her for hours, only kissing, nothing more, only kissing...
John sat waiting at the train station. Nervous as he was, the excitement exceeded that, and this would be the first time he would see Jasmine in more than 3 years apart. He contemplated vigorously and frenetically how the rekindling of a love lost in time could once again flower and regain that which was meant to be. Negativity started rearing its ugly head once again and John gave in to his doubts once again as to Jasmine’s response to seeing him again.
Only five minutes and the chain of suffering would be broken. “What about Jasmine? Had she been wallowing in sadness as much as me?” He asked himself. Perhaps their discrepancies were larger than what he had imagined; perhaps Jasmine was merely seeing him out of the guilt of giving birth to his feelings of love and despair and to somehow bringing calm to the storm brewing within John’s soul.
Perhaps she won’t even arrive, he thought. Perhaps...
He suddenly felt a tapping on his shoulder and turned around with a superfluous panic. His doubts, panic and feelings of despair and hopelessness were depleted by the person who stood in front of him. Her eyes, her lips, her gift of softening that which he thought of as a somewhat callous situation brought forth much needed peace and comfort. Their eyes locked into each other and for a moment nothing else in the universe mattered, for at that moment both of them knew they were one, and a kiss sealed the covenant of what was meant to be.
Her kisses, he thought... Willingly ensnared in the beauty of her kisses...