lovers are not meant to live together. they should always part, so that yearning might start anew and pull them back together again each time.
the absence allows lovers to better appreciate the humble tidings and blessings the other brings. subsequently, there is nary a question as to how time might have otherwise been spent, nor is there ever malicious intent, stinging inquiries asking "why?," ones to be answered by a thousand despondent sighs, garnered to protect the lover against the bitter suffering of distasteful displeasures or awkward moments of waning grace.
no, affairs of the heart bear little trace of the wear and tear of the long-term relationship, for lovers almost always make an extra effort every time, eagerly inclined with anxious anticipation, awaiting and appreciating all the small sublime moments they tender—with the little time they have.
for they are glad, gleeful, and hence, always apt to engage the other with a cheerful, gentle, touch—a civilized crush of existential intertwining, an organic lining of exquisite memory, coated with the glistening charm of dreams of them someday meeting far and away upon a wayward and dusty road.
the list
l.m