[YOUTUBE="P0SjfLqzwj8"]Half in Love with Elizabeth - Mystery Jets[/YOUTUBE]
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.
Is it that by its indefiniteness it shadows forth the heartless voids and immensities of the universe, and thus stabs us from behind with the thought of annihilation, when beholding the white depths of the milky way?