23 February 2012, a Saturday
Where is my romantic notion now? How would I…how could I even know where to begin? Yes; I feel love for him, I think. Of all the things I could…or perhaps should, be writing…this is what so compels me? Oh, what detestable madness is this that so draws me, once again, to the slaving thoughts that now own me. Have I been too reserved in some ways and in others much too giving? Have I been neglecting my own true human desires in the way of a Jane Eyre or Jane Austen? Are my feelings of affection and warmness to this man simply the result of half a year’s worth of abstinence and an entire lifetime’s worth of want? Or is this some sincere, undeniable love, esteem, or other romance? And if so, is it my humble duty to release him from my passions and let him leave me? Or
Articulated Jargon 