Nocturnal Stories

… At that moment, he realised something that lends her form only to Chopin’s nocturnes. How clear is her structure, her melody! Yet how elegantly elusive she floats under the gentle moonlight. It is existence! It is his existence! The beauty of life he lives, the will he exercised, his delicate hands, the genius, the solitude, the self-impositions – that only he who pays the price in torment may see. How he derives duties from pleasures! And how deeply he loves them, that he suffers for their perfection. Thus he is revered, for his seemingly lolling drifts above the garden of Aphrodite. Yet few knows of the hell-ridge he stands on behind her most beautiful cloak. None remembers his abandoned being. 

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Published in: on 01/01/2016 at 10:08 AM  Leave a Comment  

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