I am crazy.

Crazy and alone and no one to explain this to who will know what I mean. Those who would understand would have no more to tell me than I know myself. There is nothing like suffering love without someplace to bestow it. I know what love is. I know if I have it or not. All of that is illusion in any case but when you face the fact it is, indeed, like a mirage in the Desert of Death you are suddenly free to feel all of it in any format or type and it is all so beautiful and unreachable and that is, perhaps, love as it is best expressed: Unconsummated.

There is a kind of emotion that is so strong it is dangerous to feel it. It is the kind of emotion that cannot ever be expressed. It is the reason people fly rickety aeroplanes over the Atlantic. It is the reason people jump off mountain cliffs, without parachutes, trusting that a squirrel suit will save them. In this roaring volcano of emotion a small child sits, filled with wonder, and watches the fire-works of the human heart explode.

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