What is love?  In its many forms it means many things, from friendship to lust, from romance to parental love, and it is all those wonderful complicated things that are in between.  Love happens unconditionally, sometimes hitting us nearly instantly, and sometimes love comes after a long time, with great nurture and care.  We can dedicate our lives to love, we can try to ignore it and be smitten by it helplessly anyway.   We can also pine our lives away on love unrequited.

Love sucks.  It is the greatest joy in life.  It is hell.  We are sent away from our love sometimes never to return.  Sometimes our paths in life just differ.  It is hard to say "Where I am going you can not go."  But sometimes that's true.  These paths in life that differ are the greatest dangers to the heart and to the loss of the ability to love.   But even if we carefully watch out for this hazard we can still lose the ones we love by simply outliving them.   

Yet for the risk we are still overcome with great generosity in love.  Love is not easy, it's fleeting.  It cuts right into our soul and it can disappear as if it never existed.  It makes us irrational, stupid and forgetful.   For love we will endure great hardship, cross mountains and oceans, and move ourselves to profoundly change the world.  We know no barriers when we love and we can be incredibly industrious to keep our love.  Sometimes to a fault.

Love continues after death.  It comes unexpectedly during life.  It is wonderful hell when it happens.  Love is painfully beautiful.  We really don't love enough and yet we can love deeply our whole lives and not understand it but very little.

Today I am lucky to love.  I am also greatly sad to be in love.  Love, for all of it's wonder and excitment is such a complex weave of textures in my life, it can not be summed up simply.  But I have confessed my love to those of you who have that meaning in my life.  Should I go tomorrow read this and understand.  You were the best thing that ever happened to me.

Thanks.