The beauty of any romantic endeavor is its inherent mortality.  It is beautiful because it mirrors life: eventually, it will die.  This, Love, is beautiful because it is only a moment.  In fact, even in its totality it is only ever captured in moments.  That look, those legs lying there, that little smile,

that mischief, that outrage.  Love is a fleeting feeling.  We feel it even in the first meeting,                          we just don’t know to call it love yet.  We feel it on the good first dates and hope for more of it.  For it to deepen. The romantic moment takes on a transcendent beauty because it is a doomed endeavor.  We can say so when we are young because we expect many new romances ahead, and the older folk can say it too, but with more conviction, the evidence of life on their side.

To explore the romantic forest, to play with the tail of Love, that mysterious cat, is to play with death.

At best, we will be long lost in that wonderful forest.  We will hear trumpets for a while.

The cat will snuggle up to us and keep us warm.  But in the end, the forest will become our tomb; Love will devour us like a helpless mouse. This is not the sentiment of a broken-hearted man. No,

Love’s death is the most beautiful thing of all.

Because if not consciously then subconsciously we know all of this.  We are well aware that we are doomed.  Doomed to heart-break and doomed to death.  But we are blissfully, delusionaly brave in this respect.  We are fighter pilots.  Some kind of heroes.  You may disagree and remind me that we are seeking for happiness, fulfillment, companionship, our soul mates; and you would be right, we are searching for those things.  But behind it all, behind all the cowardice that eggs us on into seeking a final answer, we must know that if we are lucky and find it all we will still lose it again.  We will lose everything we have gained,

                                                          and then some.

The decay and death of a romance, the end of the evening, leaves a deeper hole than we began with.  So we can say we are brave heroes or delusional cowards but either way, how beautiful is our crusade! We are hopeless yet we fight on hope.

I think this is lovely.