There are some love stories that unfold in front of my eyes and I find myself constantly amazed and captured by the folds of people. At the turn of winding flowstone, two people three people walk and sing to each other. I stand atop a lonely scratch of a tree. It is the ancestor of a lightning bolt that had not quite taken shape. I am lost in their happiness. It feels as though there is a great stampede going on but all I can hear is the echo of my own screaming at the sun. There is nothing more beautiful than the quiet follies of cloudless missives sent on days when the sea licks the sand. Oh, how I wish I was on that other side.