And yet

Some instants are at times so utterly inevitable, so willingly sincere. I would repeat the painful experiences of that journey again if I was able to retrieve the images, the purposefulness, the blossoming of something authentic and pure, terse and blissful, the first time tasting the delightful, brief unavoidability of love, which wasn't in itself (love wasn't) perfect nor pure, just the dazzle of finally reaching that stage where you are ready to pour yourself in it, and it just floods you.