I have fallen in love. There is simply no other way to put it. I don’t believe I have experienced anything like this sweet, giddying sensation before in my life, but I feel that even if I were to die of it, I would never give it up. Not for anything in the world. This whole day I have been walking on tiptoes, with such a brightness and airiness about my person as I have never felt before, and I fear that at any moment I might float up into the aether and disappear into a thousand tiny pieces of light and joy … or turn, of a sudden, into a songbird—that I might fly away to spend the rest of my days singing my love to the trees and to the Earth below.
But you will want to know details. This morning, I took a different way home from church than my normal route, since the sermon had focused upon the importance of taking time to “stop and smell the roses” (and since I was hoping to avoid a certain person whom I had cheated out of a considerable amount of money the night before), when I turned a corner into Fleet Street and my life changed forever. For there she was: The brand-new 1678-model Gala Coupé Carriage, with the reinforced splinter bar and the very latest spindle technology on the rear axletree. Just sitting there for all to see, as if she were not too good for this world.
My eyes feasted on that wonderful sight for what seemed like an eternity, though it can hardly have been more than a few seconds, as the driver urged on his horses and disappeared into the London streets with such grace and speed that two beggars were knocked sprawling into a fruit stand. And though on any other day this interruption would have sent me into a fit of rage, my longing eyes never once wavered from the object of their adoration as it sped towards the horizon and vanished like a mirage.
I must have her for my own.