I love this word, and wish it was used in casual conversation. It’s not, unless you’re chatting with Dickens or Jane Austen.
It resurrects romance bringing you back to a time when all you thought about was him or her, unable to focus on anything but their beauty, even if it was all in your mind.
I’ve been besotted many times and have to say, regardless if the result was eventual heartache, there was joy being so enamored, captivated, haunted and lovingly consumed by another.
Hope springs eternal. Maybe not when your ripping up love letters perched on the ledge vowing never to love again…until the next head turner goes by that is.
And why can’t we use it to describe objects we’re particularly fond of: Kate’s frog pond, Elle’s book, David’s new home or Lola, Mick’s Border collie who resembles a plush toy you might find in your Christmas stocking?
Say it a few times letting it roll off your tongue like a magic herb enhancing your speech.
I am besotted with that basset hound who puts such a smile on my face.
Rereading The Killer Angels by Michael Shaara has me besotted with the American Civil War all over again.
Ed and I have a date for Farinelli pizza tomorrow and I’m besotted thinking about its thin, crisp crust and fresh mozzarella.
Why can’t we be besotted over cheese?
Words are buoys in the water, for everyone, not only writers, to lift us above the surface.
I used the term quell recently, and the man I was speaking to said, “That’s such a great word, we should use it more.”
To be smitten with…mad, crazy or keen about…sweet on, bewitched, bowled over or positively gaga regarding anything pumping oxygen through your veins reminding you you’re still among the living is a state to aspire to.
I don’t know about you, but I sure could use a heart filled preoccupation that takes my breath away, consumes the better part of me leaving the rest totally moonstruck.
And just think…then I could write about it.