Each time I think I have come to the edge of love, that I understand it, it is as though a new world unfolds from that edge.
While I learn new lessons, a ragged pupil missing pencil as I lost it in the last disaster, so I take note poorly, I do remember one continent to share with others.
To love is to try to understand, and to try to be understood. It is fine to take a breath and rest a while in this. But to give up the attempt, is to cease to love. That is one thing I have learned in reflecting on San. He ceased in this. And that is likely where the opportunity lay for the twisting from beloved to something else.
Lovers wish to tell and wish to know, even when it is difficult. Catullus spoke of his thousand kisses. I think to this I add a thousand talks.
Or so I think this day.