"I used to rush into strange dreams at night: dreams many-coloured, agitated, full of the ideal, the stirring, the stormy--dreams where, amidst unusual scenes, charged with adventure, with agitating risk and romantic chance, I still again and again met Mr. Rochester, always at some exciting crisis; and then the sense of being in his arms, hearing his voice, meeting his eye, touching his hand and cheek, loving him, being loved by him--the hope of passing a lifetime at his side, would be renewed, with all its first force and fire. Then I awoke. Then I recalled where I was, and how situated. Then I rose up on my curtainless bed, trembling and quivering; and then the still, dark night witnessed the convulsion of despair, and heard the burst of passion." - Charlotte Bronte (Jane Eyre)
It's hard to contain myself right now, hard to gather the thoughts together - as the senses fill with an incense that what was kindled long time back. When I was first introduced to passion and internally never left its side. That heady feeling created by interesting reads, stirring motion pictures and sometimes brainstorming sessions with ones self - something similar seems awakened. And it's making me smile amidst all that I do not understand. How to react when you continue to find your self where you were nearly ten years ago? Each time you check on yourself - you find 'it' working for you. And you mentally hug yourself in relief and pity. Things have changed thence..but not that one insane idea or that one insane moment. It's almost an intuition and yet no where in person. Not in form and not with even a hint of reality. But it appeals, invokes and calls out and you find yourself walking towards it. As if all the time lived till then was one big wait, which might've just got over. A heady heady heady delusion.
