The Way I Love Paris
"That is the way I love Helen," Paris assured his father, unaware that Helen was standing nearby, hidden behind a column, she smiled to herself and slipped away from her place, she wiped away the single tear that had begun to form in her eye. Moving away from her lover she wandered through the outer courtyards of the palace in Troy and tried to think of how it was that she loved Paris.
Paris was lucky, he was gifted...or at least there was something, he had managed to put his love for her into words, he told her all day everyday but she had nothing to match it. She felt so frustrated, she couldn't begin to describe how she felt about him so how could she possibly begin to make him understand that he was everything to her.
Love wasn't something that could ever be expressed by words, it was a feeling. It filled her completely, a warm feeling that spread through her body starting with the heart, if she thought about Paris (not that she thought of much else) the warm feeling grew warmer and she was smile inevitably, happily knowing that he was hers. Whenever he looked at her, her heart would skip a beat, she would smile back and she would be overwhelmed by that feeling of love, whatever it was. They say that if you're in love with someone and they fall for you, you lose interest and the love withers and dies.
She couldn't think of anything more absurd.
The very idea of losing interest in Paris was amusing. How could she ever lose interest in someone so perfect? Her feelings for him hadn't diminished since she became his, in fact they had grown and even when she thought she had been completely consumed by them, they kept growing.
It was as if she wasn't Helen anymore. She was so much more, for she felt as though she were carrying him within her as well. If he was happy so was she, she would share in his joy and spread it to others. If he was sad then she was too and she would worry for him until she was assured he was alright, even then she would have a nagging feeling that refused to go away until she was completely satisfied that they would be fine.
By far the thing that told her she was in love was the thought of losing him. Once, briefly when she thought he was going to leave her and they would be separated, she had found herself suddenly and inexplicably suffocated and in waves of tears. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't move, the thought of loosing him reduced her to a wreck as she screamed into her pillow. She had never known a feeling so strong and in that instant she knew that they could never be apart. It would kill her to be away from him and if he were to leave her, there really was no way she could continue. He would want her to live and be happy but how could she possibly go on without him. Without her she was nothing, now that she had known this kind of happiness it was impossible to let it go and although she had managed to survive without it before she met him, never again would she be able to go back to that person she had once been. Life without him was a life not living.
She paused in the garden and looked at her reflection in the fountain. She was wearing the necklace he had given her, a reminder that she belonged to him and she wanted nothing else. She touched it delicately and sighed, thinking about everything she had just thought. If only she could put those thoughts and feelings into words, if only she could tell the world, the way she loved Paris.
End
