These days into eachother, a gray-rose swirling sunset of week after week. Three months and a few thousand thoughts still spinning about eachother and the realization that they will never stop.

I do remember being in love. I remember the falling, the aching and the needing to hold someone always. Mostly I remember the fear of loss, of losing anyone I'd made such a part of myself. It is easy to go along and create yourself. Gather the best parts of everyone you have ever loved even for an instant and slip them inside of a formless skin, this shell of yourself, left empty after too many years waiting for people to love you as much as you love them.

I'd almost like to call it a mistake, this falling all over myself in love with anyone who will give me five seconds or a handful of words. With anyone who comes along and wakes me up just long enough to see what I am missing with my eyes always to the ground. It's just this - it took me so long to learn that there is no one kind of love. There is no I love you that is at all the same as the next. And it has been this long to know that the people who I had tossed off as peripherals have been nearly as important as anyone who has taken me in, really loved me.

It is such a crazy dance, two people slipping into eachothers lives and turning them all around. It is an even crazier dance when it lasts.

When it ends, well - that is the saddest and the strangest waltz you will ever know.