These are the things we say.
Love is a torrent, a force that possesses,
selfless, without shame.
Love is sacrifice, even to death,
and pure, and heavenly.
Pursue true love unturned by obstacles, by time,
for love does not accept rebuke.
Yet when Fosca loves:
insufferable.
This love, this very love,
when unrequited:
mocked, jeered, blamed.
Love disturbed, unhealthy.
One who loves so doggedly:
no sympathy for this one, and no reverence.
Yet how is she to know,
poor Fosca,
whether on her deathbed
she will win her lover's heart?
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