Some would say it is madness to want a woman this way,
but I think it must be love. Not the tepid, fickle love of which the
poets sing—the love that forms or fades with kindness or cruelty.
No, this love is something more divine—like the love of a god, both
vengeful and benign. It is as constant as the sea. And as beautiful.
As dangerous. As mysterious.
She is the only woman to ever refuse me. And yet, I want…
