bring sets of armor and gear,
crates of nourishment and safety nets
to places barren, chaotic, or unforgiving,
and hope that one shall survive.
one could bring it all,
yet the Only thing
that does not rot, erode,
or become molded over
amidst the commotions
of endless Wilderness,
remains a True Love’s
“…Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour
Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you.
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour
When you have bid your servant once adieu;
Nor dare I question with my jealous thought
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,
But like a sad slave, stay and think of nought,
Save, where you are how happy you make those.
So true a fool is love that in your will
Though you do anything, he thinks no ill.”
I begin to notice that, the heart, after one thing or another, does mature a little