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 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.
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
blossoms had fallen from our branches,
We found that we were one tree
and not two.
Louis De Bernieres
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