“Consider love.”
The professor paused, giving the students time to take in what was said. They do, they considered it. Some, the professor can see, looked deep into their thoughts, while others simply just considered it. After a couple seconds, he proceeded.
“How it can be a seed of its own nature or a root to the plant of affection.” A couple heads nodded. “Or the plant itself with the roots of affections.” Some nodding halted for a second. “Love is it’s own world, it has it’s own language and culture and norms and actions.” The noddings began again. “So, how can people walk around and say love lives within them?”
The professor moved from his standing as the students eyes followed him. “It’s almost childlike to think that way.” Some agreed while others listened. “Love cannot live within, it is the lover who lives within.” More noddings. “A cell in the roots of affections on the plant of love that was once a seed.”
A student in the front raised her hand, curiosity written on her face. But the professor carried on, so she let her hand fall, waiting for the next opportunity to ask her question.
“Now consider the lover,” the professor turned to looked at his 200 plus students. “How did he come to love? Did he touched the roots of affection and ate the plant of love?” His eyes moved to the clock behind them, it’s long hand moving toward noon soon. “Or did the plant of love poisoned him?”
He looked at his students now, he wasn’t asking them the question but he was interested in some answers. The student that had her hand raised up spoke out, “Professor Durham,” the professor was slightly impressed with her ability to recall his name though he only mentioned it once when he introduced himself that first day of class. “Why do you think love is a poison? You asked if he was poisoned by love? Is love, in that way, a poisonous thing to humanity?”
“Love is a poison,” the professor answered. “Well, this is my thoughts on it, but I do so believe that love is a poison.”
Some students shot up their hands in the air while others voiced their questions or statements. “Love isn’t poisonous.” “How can love be poisonous?” “Hate is more like that” “Do you even know what love is?” “Professor is talking nonsense again.” “What does love have anything to do with human nature?” “What the heck is love?” “A plant.” “That was a metaphor, idiot!”
The professor held up his hand and the class got quiet again. “I believe love is poisonous because of what it has done.” The professor started his pacing again. “Many people said that they love. Yet they are the ones who only chooses what or who they want to love. And those that aren’t loved by the lovers, well -- the lovers don’t love them, because they are corrupted by love to love those they wish to. Everyone wants to be loved, correct?” More noddings. “Yet, some aren’t loved. That is because of love commanding the lovers to only choose what or who they want love and be loved by. They are corrupted in that way by love, and because of that, they are poisoned by love to love those they only want to.”
“But that’s hate,” someone said outloud.
The professor considered that, “Exactly! Hate is the baby of love. If you are a lover, why don’t you love everyone? And if you only love one or a few, why do you not love the rest? And if you don’t love them, they’ll grow to hate you. Hate is the product of love.”
“Not making sense, Professor,” someone else sighed.
The professor’s eyes caught the clock turning noon. “We will start up this conversation again on Wednesday if needed. Remember to finish your online project, I will see you all.”
Everyone started gathering their things, to leave to another class, for lunch, or for home, but inside all their heads, the professor’s lecture will stay with them.
The professor gathered his things and waited as the last student left the classroom. Then he too, after locking the doors to the lecture halls and shutting it, left for his home. He enjoyed the lecture, as he always does. He made a mental note to include the interesting lecture in his portion of journals on Allison’s Time. As he walked out the doors to his red car, someone sitting on the outside bench stood up and called his name. “Eric Durham?”
The professor turned around and met eyes to eyes with a tall, slender yet muscular man who has a little Asian mixed with some other race, he couldn’t tell if it was Indian or down south African, which was odd considering where they are, in the Democracy States, with little to no mixing in different races. The young man’s peachy skin looked tanned by the sun, as if he lived outside, his curly hair darkly colored brown with a beautiful shine. But the eyes Eric was staring into was stunning. It was lightly blue, almost green, contrasting the young man’s whole outlook, as if he was the dark sky embracing the moonlit ocean.
“And you are?” Eric reached a hand out.
The young man doesn’t reach to grab it, so Eric immediately thought he was a student at the university. Yet, he had known Eric’s full name.
“Just a fan,” the young man said. “I read your articles.” He held up the papers in his hand that Eric failed to see until now.
The young looked quite intelligent, yet he was rude for not taking Eric’s hand and properly meeting him. Eric crossed his arms, “Do you want an autograph?” Thinking that maybe he was sent by Allison’s Time.
The young man’s blue, green eyes met with the professor’s again, and his lips smirked. “No thank you. I’m not that big of a fan. I just wanted to say one thing.”
The professor listened, fully aware that the young man was not sent by Allison’s Time. The young man was simply just a fan as he had said so. And though as protective as the professor was at his own thoughts, ideas, and works, he still liked getting feedbacks from others as well.
“Love doesn’t exist, Eric Durham. There is no such thing as love,” the young man’s moonlit eyes suddenly turned dark and strikingly dangerous.