  It's interesting how we're taught from youth that romantic love is like Hiroshima, isn't it? Video, audio, hard copy; it all informs me that it's like a great tsunami (sorry about all the Japansese similes) that just cannot be stopped. And life, of course, is different. I never cease to be amazed at the capacity of the human mind to believe what it wants in the face of what is obvious. Sometimes love creeps up on you like your own shadow, and you don't realise it until it's already underfoot. Sometimes love is both things, rainforest and desert. It makes me wonder. What do you do when you walk out of a rainforest and a mood changes, and suddenly you're in the middle of desert? When the emotions of the thing seem different? The answer is ridiculously simple, I think, but utterly difficult to actually implement. The answer is trust, and committment. You trust that it won't be like that forever, trust in the love of the other person.
You commit yourself to not abandoning things merely because they don't fit your expectations. Of course these things have their limits, and they're by no means easy or even exclusive things. Sometimes love is quite honestly seeking the best for another person. Sometimes love is denying yourself the safety of hideaways. Sometimes love is braving the long deserts, knowing that paradise is on the other side. And yes, sometimes love is like a tsunami, like an atomic bomb going off.
I know. Right now I feel as if I'm on the borderland of a dry spell. Like I'm close to a place that will test these things in me. But not only in me. Maybe it's just an errant wind, or maybe trouble really is brewing. Who knows. But I refuse to let something die so young, to kill it slowly with a thousand tiny divorces. 
