When it comes to love, i'm still slightly unsure as to whether proclamations and promises should really be allowed. I wonder how one could possibly compare teenagers cuddling, absorbing one another, living in love and infatuation with the love that, say, a widow bears for her lover lost to war, the love of a husband and wife on their golden anniversary, 50 years having flown by and letting their relationship grow roots that extend miles through the earth, the love of a man who cares for this cancer-stricken wife, the disgust and the pain stomached stoicly in the name of love.

And despite this vast difference, this wide spectrum in the depth, sincerity and peseverance of love, you cannot deny that sometimes, once in a very blue moon, a relationship comes along that develops from the former, with the right amount of nourishing, into the latter.

From someone I love,

Love is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have become so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident.