The Village Press

Love is a temporary madness. 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.  Your mother and I had it, we had roots that grew towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossom had fallen from our branches we found that we were one tree and not two. 

 Louis De Bernieres I read this HERE today, and my heart leaped a little, thank you for these words Mrs. Nielson.  I do not know you but I know the love you speak of.   This is us. Mr. Witt reached for my hand last night, under the covers, after a long evening of busy.  He said i love you in a most sincere and long lasting sort of way.  I basked in the forever(ness) in the air that surrounded as I drifted into dream land.
I love you too darling.
**linked up to free write HERE, no and cool ;-)