the artist and the scientist

if there were one weakness he could not help but succumb to, it was his lust for beauty. whether it be the sweet sounds of a captivating melody or the irresistible curves of a woman, he found himself unable to keep himself from the intense energy of something beautiful.

he was an artist. to him, beauty was life, it was everything. there was no way for him to exist if it weren’t for his love of all things pleasing to the senses. his eyes wandered and his mind travelled to places he would be embarrassed to reveal to anyone else – no, not even her – but he never had the desire to share his obsession of alluring things with people anyway.

they wouldn’t understand, he thought, especially not her. she lived for the empty dust of mediocrity while he searched for exquisiteness, delicacy and grace to preserve in his words, his music.

for his pleasure only.

she was a scientist. she didn’t care much for details and diamonds. while she had the ability to see the value he put in all things beautiful, she was more intrigued with what lay beneath the aesthetics. why were the lovely things he so desired even lovely in the first place? what made him shudder at the elegance of that dancer’s moves?

if there were one thing she could not stop doing, it was questioning the depth of the things he lusted for. she wanted to know and to share what she knew so that it would not be locked in a corner of her mind, for her own entertainment, but that others may also dig down to the unchanging facts that will not fade with time.

he wouldn’t understand, she thought. although she was jealous that he had the kind of passion she never could quite grasp, she was also dismayed at his obsession with immediate pleasure.

how could he possibly find satisfaction in temporary titillation?

he breathed nothing but pure beauty and charm.

she lived for answers that anchored firmly to the ground.

envy. frustration. judgment. love?


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