Love,
knowing that the one you love
may not be here tomorrow,
knowing that today
may be your last day to truly meet,
knowing that you cannot know
how the story ends.
Care, care deeply, care until it hurts,
care in spite of what people say,
in spite of ridicule and rejection
and being misunderstood,
care so much that you no longer care
what happens to you.
Sink, sink willingly,
into this bitter-sweet mystery of love,
never knowing what love is and loving anyway,
like a fool, like a fascinated child,
like a madman,
like one who has forgotten how to be cynical,
or how to be right.
Love until your voice trembles,
and your heart pounds,
and your legs shake,
and your philosophies crumble to dust,
and your cleverness bows its head in shame,
in reverence.
And you will be taken to the darkest places,
and your heart will be set on fire
by the ones to whom you were never able
to open your heart,
and you will be reminded
of what you have always, secretly, known:
that in time, you will forget everything,
except how to die, and how to love.