When a man has fought with the entire world to be with a woman, there is something about her, which does not compare. It simply does not compare. She is no ordinary woman. She is not a “regular” woman. Furthermore, she is not part of a caliber of women, who live their life in a frivolous manner. Let’s make it very clear. This is a woman of true means. She has a rare value, which is so hard to find.
So, he loves her and desires her to return home. For such a man is in love with her and desires her to return, home. Like every bird, he has built a nest. And so, he desires her to rest with him, in that house of, belonging. For, it is where she truly belongs, at least on his eyes.
To make you my wife, I lived a disastrous life
And, I quarreled with the world, like a picotee in a vase
Our cottage flourished, but you my Dear, left
Our cottage love nest is waiting for you to come,
Our cottage, where we first kissed, longing is crying ceaseless
For a necklace of beads, I went on bad roads,
Nobody upset you, you left me as joy, longing that rips me and a grieved, Soul
One of the questions, which continues to remain, is why would a life of comfort, cause a woman to, stray. There are lessons to be learned as it concerns women and homes. For, in the journey towards love, a man must come to comprehend, that its not solely the comforts of the home, but the warmth built, within.
He loved her, and still loves, her! Yet, there are pieces missing, which have driven her, away.
Casuta Noastra. Such is where our cottage stays. Afterall, it was once a cottage for the two of you. Now, it is simply, one. When the warmth is taken away, it means that one of two parties is leaving away. At that point, the memories mean nothing. It’s all about the sensory of the spacing. The memories mean nothing, when the feelings are no more. Again, let this be an added lesson, in how necessary warmth must be channeled into any living space. Let it be a continuous lesson.
Unfortunately, it’s a lesson one man may have learned a little too late, as he sings the song of, “Casuta Noastra.” “Our cottage.” At least it once was, ours.
Gica Petrescu
