Long-ish Form

What does it mean to be in Love? How do you know when it has happened to you? Who has the right to say? Why must it be that Love must last until, when? Forever? Feelings aren’t facts, and impermanence is our reality; must we make forever out of our Love for it to be real? I would like forever. Someone who will wake up morning after morning and choose me, again and again. I want it for its predictability, the steadiness of it. A promise and then an action, an equation repeatin

Ocean waves,  Smiles that dress up dead eyes,  Oak trees in their death knell at autumn's core,  Bellyaching laughter born of yearning and desire:  Here are only a few of her ten-thousand faces. Grief is a beauty, dressed in steel and lace, oleander bedecking her hair. Her cheeks are full, her arms are strong and supple, her legs corded but soft; she is a master of disguise. Grief wears many faces, for she is the many faced god. We westerners get Grief all wrong.