These young women of Vivaldi may have won the hearts of a suitor, but they certainly had no opportunity to fall in love with the men. What are the odds that the marriage, which was barely more than arranged marriages, would be happy?
This is turning out to be a better post than I originally expected considering the fact that I had no organized thoughts beyond the topic when I began. Go figure.
In case you haven’t noticed, I’m feeling particularly lonely and introspective. This probably isn’t a good thing, but neither is it a surprise. I’m a thinker with deep emotions.
You are my guiding star, my true love, my reason to smile, the sun that melts the ice in my soul. You have brought life to this corpse, and made my diseased heart beat once again. You’ve filled my soul and brought my mind to life with thoughts of love.
“I hope you are hungry,” he says from the kitchen. “We will be having Pasta Fagioli al Forno, with a nice antipasti salad, and home-made garlic bread.”
You may have noticed that a lot of my gestures involve writing. Personally, I'm fond of writing (as you might have ascertained from my blog posts). I feel as though it is a way to connect on a very personal level, and, frankly, it's probably easier to express oneself in written form with the chance to go back and refine than written. Probably one of my favorite gestures was writing love letters.