“I loved her against reason, against promise, against peace, against hope, against happiness, against all discouragement that could be.”
— Charles Dickens

The flaneur walks not for the people but to see hearts scrawled on a wall: “Last night was one of the most stupendous, astounding, magnificent, fabulous evenings I’ve had in a long time! ♥”

So nuanced is the beginning, the neophyte often dismisses the first position, that subtle ripple across the pond of your emotions, the soft breeze across the grayed embers of your heart that urges them to softly glow.

In fact, only the Masters may ever practice position number one, for only their souls may divine the possible futures.

For all others, it is as if the breeze stills, and only then did you notice their had been a breeze at all.

For all but the Masters, the first position of lovers is always experienced in retrospect, once it has passed, replaying in a loop in your mind while each review refuels your heart’s grayed embers.

The position of lovers, no. 1, is the position of curious reverie.

Something terrible happened when I was younger: I became afraid of love. I’ve been vigilant. I see the love’s traps everywhere, each a prison to bypass and a promise of entrapment.

And, how lively the dead seem.