In somehow empathy with Redrock12, in my 40 years old, I never meet a healthy- lovely couple that I remember in my life, and the most remarkable thing that I found for my self from the book (“The Madness of Lord Ian Mackenzie”) was how the female writer develop the feelings- emotions of the characters all along of the story in their trip- life, struggling to resolve or face their reality with the heart and inner strength of the main female character. Something very interesting like that impulse of love and courage spills, releases or emanates a healing force around them for those around them or those involved in shared problems.Let me just say that reading the posts has given me more insight into my own self and motivations and responses than what I have gained from the novels, although I've only completed one,My One And Only Duke, and two thirds thru The Dukes Disaster.
Anyway, my takeaway from all this, in my almost 75 years of existence, is that until now, I've never understood love, with all of it's beautiful complexities and nuances.
Right now, just composing this, I'm feeling the feelings I experience when I'm texting with my beloved. Whether her feelings for me are as intense as are mine for her, remains to be seen.I think she may be having conflicting feelings about this relationship. After 73 years, she's probably accumulated a lot of baggage. But it's an absolutely wonderful experience I will never forget, regardless of the outcome.
Thank you everyone, who posted on this topic.
After that turn of enthusiasm and hope within history, and freely rethinking about it, an anger and sadness invaded me as to how the forces that keep people asleep in ideological-cultural programs or traditions in each era.
How many lives or suffering does it take to wake up?
I only know the stories of my parents and grandparents and nothing else, and certainly there are no love stories. My father's mother, her parents married her when only when she was 15 yrs old with a 40-year-old man, my father never shared anything (stories) about his family. My grandmother's mother was of indigenous descent and my grandfather's family did not love her for that. My mother, since I can remember when I was little, had a relationship with my father's best friend for years. And the mother of my first boyfriend ran away from her alcoholic husband, and it goes on and on without finishing the life stories of the people I knew ...
Difficult ...... how much effort is necessary to get out of the bonds of shared problems, that parents or families inherit their descendants for not wanting to face or solve, or not having the capacity to do so.
So maybe if one can keep working with hope, one good day one could reach a better level of happiness.