Love is my teacher; I am mystified.
Love is never feigned, did Shakespeare say that? Now I know what it means.
Love comes to me, and I am tilting, reaching as I fall... I am useless; so little of what I am knows how to respond. Love comes to me. My mechanisms grind, I am dashed like defeat onto these aimless, time-worn steps... and I cannot try, trying is not love.
Love has been many things, many people to me. They are all here, stirring, unfolding, swimming in my heart. The knots that bind my heart stretch and ache, the sudden gush a rumor, a fantasy.
All that I know, all that I can do, is whisper your name.