I don't want Poison Apples....

I should like very much to be spared the poison apple that is Love. What small taste I've had of it left a bitter taste in my mouth.

After several attempts throughout the years to read Wuthering Heights, I am finally making myself finish it. And I both love it and hate it at the same time. I cannot get through the pages without drawing parallels to my own life. I am passionate enough that I would do exactly the same things. I am selfish enough that I would make the same mistakes. And I am coward enough that I would likewise seal my own fate in death. How miserable am I? miserable enough for having had my own Heathcliff.

And we loved passionately. And we tore each other apart. And we exacted revenge and inflicted even worse damage on ourselves. And yet I'm still standing. Sad, bitter, and scared of ever putting myself in that position again, but I'm still standing, and that in itself is a big accomplishment. I suppose...


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