And another thing.

Love is a temporary madness,
it erupts like volcanoes and then subsides.

And when it subsides you have to make a decision.

You have to work out whether your roots have so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part.

Because that is what love is.

Love is not breathless, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion...

That is just being "in love," which any fool can do.

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 father had it,
they had roots that grew towards each other underground,
and when all the pretty blossoms had fallen from their branches they found that they were one tree and not two.