“Love Is The Beauty Of The Soul.”

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. That is just being “in love” which any of us can convince ourselves we are.

Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. Love is having roots that grow towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossom have fallen from our branches we find that we are one tree and not two.

Falsely yours,
Saint Augustine