I write about it because one day it'll all be gone. There's nothing here but a kind of sweetness that lingers outside of oneself and follows he whom I love. I'm a pool of eternity bound by flesh and sinew. He's moved on and I go with him, except I haven't moved. There's both calm and excitement, peace that knows it'll end with wonder. Thoughts of duty wait awhile. It's only silence now. It's a strange thing love. It keeps you young. It confuses you. It asks you to deny what you see and accept what you feel. I'm on top of the world! If the world was a mattress blanketed with comforters. Not because you asked, not because you bargained, because I love you. I give to you because I love you. Yes, that's right. It's all free. You don't have to do anything. You can't buy it. I forgot that. There's so many ways to make love.