The expression "Love everlasting" isn't quite correct because there is no corollary to the permanence of love. It cannot unlast. It can only be. It is all that can be. Nothing else is nor can be. Love can be kicked around — it is kicked around — and yet it is still love and it is unaffected.

What is there to speak of but love? You talk enough among yourselves about everything under the sun but not enough about love. No matter how you yearn for love, somehow it is not quite the topic of the day, as if love were surreptitious, something thought of but not to be spoken of in polite society.

Complaints about love seem to be acceptable. Love turned out not quite admirably, and that is considered worthy of discussion. Broken hearts are timely. Pain resulting from love is extolled, as if your great love meant great hurt.

Waiting is putting yourself on hold. That is what waiting is. You do not wait for something. You wait for yourself to go ahead.

Waiting isn't exactly procrastination. Waiting is fear. How strange a word is "fear". It is a certain sound. It is a symbol of nothing, yet it strikes itself in your heart like a reverberating gong. The mere mention of it is an anathema. The mere mention of it makes it present.

If you never had hurt feelings, you would love unconditionally. It is thoughts about yourself that prevent you from loving with your whole heart. You believe that someone loves you one minute and not the next, and so conditions are born, and you respond accordingly. You believe that love can be withdrawn, and so you withdraw. You believe that love does not really belong to you, neither as a receiver or giver.