Mystery is Love

He knocks on my door; it isn't a question-knock; he's just telling me that he's coming in. I am sitting on my bed reading and thinking. When he approaches, I put down my book and smile vaguely at the opposite wall. Darcy insults Elizabeth at the neighborhood ball and I notice that the purple paint is peeling off the wall.

He takes me by the hand and leads me from my dark room and into the courtyard. But outside it is not much brighter because the sun has gone behind a cloud; the weather has multiple personality disorder and doesn't like anyone telling it what it will be that day. Jane is caught in the rain on her way to Netherfield and the sun decides it wants to visit us.

We sit on the lawn and he starts to pick at the perfectly maintained grass. Shredding it into tiny bits, he places the scraps on my long skirt that pools around me as I sit cross-legged. I am busy watching the cat as she makes her way across the courtyard towards us. What was that Jen said about the cat and the canary? He doesn't remind me of a canary, but Mrs. Bennet certainly has designs for Mr. Bingley and Jane.

I am happy when we go inside again; the Florida sun decides that it is time to play pretend, and this time we're Mercury and she's being herself. The sun is the one who should be mercury; she changes her mind too much.

Shelley says that poetry lifts the veil from the hidden beauty of the world, but I disagree. Poetry is mystery and that is why it is art. He agrees with Shelley, but we have always had artistic differences. Eliza Bennet is beautiful to Mr. Darcy because she is different, unknown; mystery in love, mystery in art, mystery in life.

Why does he love me? We have artistic differences. And mystery is the key to the world.