By Jeff Foster

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. For what is left in this life if you have nothing to lose?


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 and 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.


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