Love Is Just A System For Getting

You Put Together Two People Who Have Not Been Put Together Before. Sometimes It Is Like That First Attempt To Harness A Hydrogen Balloon To A Fire Balloon: Do You Prefer Crash And Burn, Or Burn And Crash? But Sometimes It Works, And Something New Is Made, And The World Is Changed. Then, At Some Point, Sooner Or Later, For This Reason Or That, One Of Them Is Taken Away. And What Is Taken Away Is Greater Than The Sum Of What Was There. This May Not Be Mathematically Possible; But It Is Emotionally Possible.

What Makes Us Want To Know The Worst? Is It That We Tire Of Preferring To Know The Best? Does Curiosity Always Hurdle Self-interest? Or Is It, More Simply, That Wanting To Know The Worst Is Love's Favorite Perversion.

Was It The Case That Colours Dimmed As The Eye Grew Elderly? Or Was It Rather That In Youth Your Excitement About The World Transferred Itself Onto Everything You Saw And Made It Brighter?

The Better You Know Someone, The Less Well You Often See Them (and The Less Well They Can Therefore Be Transferred Into Fiction). They May Be So Close As To Be Out Of Focus, And There Is No Operating Novelist To Dispel The Blur.

And That Was All The Part Of It - The Way You Were Obliged To Live. You Stifled A Groan, You Lied About Your Love, You Deceived Your Legal Wife, And All In The Name Of Honour. That Was The Damned Paradox Of It - In Order To Behave Well, You Have To Behave Badly.