Dear Journal,
By the age of 37 I can conclude that I am a fool for love. The most unreasonable loves have gripped my mind ever since I was a small child.
First, there was N, then G (who I dated for two years), then Q, then S and seriously, I don't trust my imagination. Why would the mind want somebody so if never to have them? That is the question that you must ask even of having an imagination. Why hold on to something that is never yours. Why seek something that never will be.
Many from the intelligentsia like Albert Einstein have extolled the virtues of having an imagination. It's supposed to be a sign of intelligence. Ever since I was a child I've seen Ma talking to herself, lost in thought. I've never known anything better than having an imagination, drawing from the vast number of books I read as a child.
Buro on the other hand took on more from Pa by being sportive, driven and realistic with far more friends than me. How two siblings given the same environment can be so different?
Love is real. In fact only love is real. Love, love, love and live, live, live. I know this to be true by the extent of love I have for Ma, Pa and Buo. But love for a man. Ah! That's where life has got me. That has never been realised, hence has faded and is not real. I must say I will always love Ma, Baba, Buro, Dadu, Dimma, Dadu and Thama.
To love is reality. To love is the prophecy. To love men have lain their lives. To love not only for a husband and wife. Only love is real. But is imagination? That is the big question.
Love
Doel
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