Cordelia was about to argue that she was not 'defensive', but she stopped herself before she did because she realized that would only prove the his point. She smiled, somehow understanding every word that he was saying, but unable to figure why she understood so well.
"No, no. You aren't confusing me," she looked down at the book for a moment, again searching for some kind of imaginary answer, "Movie or poem, I do not think most people would understand the depth of their love. In fact, I do not even think that they did. No one does. What greater mysteries are there in life, outside of love and death? Death enhances love, and love enhances death. In many cases, one does not notice how much they love someone until they are dead. Or, two people love one another so much, that they will happily face death."
She laughed, wondering how she managed to fall into this sort of conversation with someone she had just met, in a tone that almost seemed like another language.
"Both Love and Death have the ability of either saving us or damning us. I just don't see how actors could pretend to love this deeply, as it can only be portrayed by those who are experiencing it first hand. This love he writes about...you can tell he wrote it while doubled over in the pain of both is love and his loss. You know, where love is so fantastical, yet so unforgiving, that you feel as if it has taken you over to the point that it's suffocating you. You realize that with that feeling," she sounded as if saying 'feeling' was painful,"you no longer have control over anything in your life. Your thoughts, goals, and all your happiness revolves around that other person. Your life is not your own, but theirs' as well. Yet, the other can so easily walk away and leave the other alone in that pain. And then, that happens so many times, that when one starts to love, then they only know the pain and see the end."
Cordelia could hardly believe what she was saying. This was not her, she could hardly even hear her own voice or understand her own words. For a moment, it felt like she was speaking Greek, but she hardly knew the language outside of figuring out the alphabet enough to recognize what the name had said on that journal she had stashed away back in August.
"I am sure she knows he visits, and feels terrible that she ever had to leave him in the first place."