Love, that many-splendored thing. When you have it, your life seems more highly colored, more intense, a roller-coaster ride of thrilling emotions. When you don’t have it, you aren’t sure it exists, or could ever exist for you, but you have a vague (or
not so vague) feeling you must be missing something awfully important. When you manage to hold on to love for a long time, it changes, mellows, grows, cycles, and generally foils your expectations just when you think you’ve got it pinned down. Is
this how it is supposed to be?