Sweet sweet love, why dost thou torment me so?
Or is it love at all that does the deed?
Perhaps it is but the idealism of youth and the ferver of longing itself that torments.
Perhaps it is only the question of what could be that drives me to the brink of madness with the swift coursers of obsession and yearning.
Oh have I dreamt of flinging myself in, but only to begin the slow and difficult climb back out again.