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Surpassing Love
A lesson for lovers, story for all

EÁMANË was, as all lovers are, full of doubts and questions. She needed assurances from Fingolfin, who was more than obliging at professing his love.
“How deep is your love?”
“It is deeper than the ocean, and deeper still, than your wishes,” replied Fingolfin.
“How tall is your love?”
“It is taller than the sky, and taller still, than your dreams.”
“Do you love me?”
“Yes I do, why would you need to ask?”

Eámanë looked Fingolfin in the eye long and hard, and told him “Everything I ask about, you manage to answer in rhetoric and metaphor. Everything surpasses me- the depth and height of your love surpasses all that matters to me.” Fingolfin stared back at Eámanë's face and replied “You surpass me”, with a blush he could have assured her was redder than the sun, and redder still than her lips, or her love. Eámanë left Fingolfin's arms, pacing under the tree's shade where they rested, irked and looking disgustedly at her lover.

“You cannot compare yourself to what is divine,” replied Fingolfin. “You are a mortal, and will never surpass these things, as I won't either. That is the way of the world.”

“If I cannot surpass it, then what can I surpass? My friends are all naïve and simpleminded. But I feel the shimmering stars lure me, calling me to join their fold. I feel the fragrant flowers pull me, calling me to join their patch. Why am I myself, that cannot surpass anything?”

Fingolfin, who wasn't as wise as he would have wanted to be, cleared his throat, and replied while getting up as well, “That is a question many might ask, and never find the answer to.”

Eámanë bit her lip, and frowned at Fingolfin.
“I wish I could fly. I wish I could live forever. I wish I could be somebody else.”
“But none of that is possible,” laughed out Fingolfin, without meaning to.
“No!” Eámanë was greatly angered. “There has to be ways. There must have been others before me, in my position. Existence would be meaningless without surpassing anything.”

“I'm sure there have been plenty before you, or before me; in the end of the day it's not so terrible, this existence. But it's all a matter of what you will settle for.”

“That is terrible! I wish to learn the meaning of life, I wish to learn everything and surpass whatever comes my way.”
“This world is a dangerous place, but it is beautiful too. We feel like we must know our place in the Big Plan. But maybe there is none. We are cursed, yes. We are cursed in our desire to know. Maybe we are simply meant to exist. To surpass love, we would have to be born as different things entirely.”
“Then there is nothing for me!” exclaimed Eámanë.
“That is not true,” Fingolfin dejectedly replied, “You have yourself, and you have my love in its entirety.”
“And nothing else? How does it amount to anything if I'm unhappy with it? My peers are foolish and I'm not them. I'm myself but I want to be more.”

“It's not a matter of happiness, when all is said and done. Love is vital and the only thing that, for us, will have any meaning- good or bad. You should embrace its splendor, the grand heights and depths we mortals cannot reach. It's the only peace we will ever find. It will give us strength when we need it, and the will to do extremely difficult things for it.”

And so Fingolfin and Eámanë returned to their place under the tree, in each other's embrace, and Eámanë no longer felt inferior- she only felt separate, from her friends, because she began to understand the magnificence of love.

“Fingolfin, how much do you love me?”
“If the radiance of a thousand suns were to burst at once into the sky- that would be the splendor of love that we mortals cannot see or surpass. That is how much you have taught me to love you.”

By The Anarchist Kitten

A tinted reflection on the glass cover of a microwave

You were like a smile drawn
out on a bucket of quiet water
Still yet relentless, and solemnly fading;
Like strangers we smiled, like strangers we walked past
Our eyelashes glancing, our necks urging to turn;
at times they did; but more often they remained
afraid of not knowing what to say, and what not to say.
You remain as a tinted reflection on the glass cover of a microwave
as I walk towards your leisured shoulders,
your pupils slowly dilating, your hair swiftly turning
when my fingers barely curve to a wave, and your lips ripple to a smile.
You remain as un-braided hair flushing through white window shutters,
as well-dressed eyes shadowed by washed out cardinal-dyed hair;
You remain as adored quickening heart beats and smiles with stuttering words,
and a person who stumbles a dent on my lower face, half faded
much like a smile drawn out on a bucket of quiet water.
By Adnan M. S. Fakir


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