I have this enormous capacity to love, yet all I seem able to love is Love itself. Love: ephemeral, inconsequential, illusive and mocking. Have I truly learned how to love people? could it be that I love them only as physical representations of the Platonic ideal? or as temporary vessels of perfect Love. All I know is; my love never fades, it only grows stronger as it passes from vessel to vessel. This is wonderful for Love, but perhaps not so great for me and the other mortals whose limbs and hearts become tangled with mine. There are a lot of scraped knees, bruises, cuts, gashes and sometimes whole limbs severed, mine, yours, who knows. But there’s no time for regrets, Love stays one skip ahead of me, and blindly I chase it, disintegrating, leper-like, as I go.
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