Love

What is love but the ethereal meeting of the minds? After so many years, what has it become? What is left? Is this all there is to it?

Someone tells me that he isn't the one for me, that to make a permanent union of it would be one of the gretest mistakes of my life, and that I should take the time to consider if that is what I really want. I can feel it looming over my life, and I wonder if there just enough time for me to figure things out before it all comes crashing down.

Chalk & cheese, we are.

I wonder if, 4 and more years ago, I made a mistake.

Where did the tension go, the attraction? Is it me? All of which are questions I cannot answer, and require both our input.

If it ends, where will he go from here? I more or less know where I will go, and the road that I will walk, it is not a happy road, for me, but it is a road that I know I need to discover.

Am I a shield against the world for him? I really don't know where I stand in his life, am I his one true, or am I what he has so that he must hold on lest nothing else comes along? Ah, pain.

It gives me no pleasure, and it is not that there is else for me; this is honesty with self. Am I being selfish, though, that I want all and give nothing? I am drained dry. Too many, too much.

Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments.

Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove:

O no! it is an ever-fixed mark

That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wandering bark,

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle's compass come:

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

If this be error and upon me proved,

I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

William Shakespeare (1564 - 1616)

Oh my, I do so love the sonnets. That is what love is to be. And when I look at the what I have, compare it to what even she has, I wonder where mine went.

'Tis unshakeable, 'tis unchangeable, such is the Father's Love for me, but that's like in capitals, y'know, agape. It what I have mere philia, where e'en has the eros gone? Don't get me wrong, I still care, deeply, for him, and it is not in me to cut it off with no warning whatsoever.

Oh, what do I do, God?