I keep finding ways to tell myself I was never good enough for her. It’s not true. I don’t think it’s true. Knowing the truth doesn’t really change this kind of feeling, though.
I should find either a way to stop thinking completely or start believing the truth.
I’ve been reading quite a bit about Louis XIV, who was known as the Sun King during his reign over France. He was a revered man whose power spoke volumes before he ever had to say a word. He was in charge of his own world and everything except happened by his terms because he believed in himself so much.
Only that’s not true. This morning I read he found love with a woman that was considered plain and unworthy of his attention by (seeming) all standards. She was the black sheep of her family, and her own mother didn’t respect her. Her sisters shunned her. And when it came down to marriage, Louis was persuaded to leave this woman because she wasn’t considered fit to be a queen, to be his queen. In a writing found after his death, he admitted he had never loved anyone as much as her, and it was her that pushed him toward becoming the timeless king he is known as.
What good is being the sun when you have to lead such a cold life?
I didn’t figure it out (duh).
I think I just figured it out.