I watch people in the ways their lives shape around the greater significance of what has grown to be important. There is so little morality in the changing of ways. When a person discovers the sincerity of being in love is it wrong to reject their naivety? They will call it jealousy, deem it selfish. Sometimes it is. Secretly we hope that somewhere along the lines there is a place that will leave all of the lovers in the world to weep alone, flashing them memories of all that once was. Can anybody really keep it? Are we truly jealous of those who find the love we were all promised? How can it even begin to exist, is what I wonder most. Are we simpleminded enough to believe utter dependance may last a lifetime, do we need nothing else? The preciousness in being smitten is somewhat overruled by the fact that human nature is selfish. We find our 'other half' and every stepping stone that made us whole in the first place all of a sudden becomes a burden to this undying love. Enter love, exit reality. We only see these holes too late. By then we're in the corners of our own world, weeping at the best of times. I would like to apologize to every stepping stone I may have cast aside. Love means absolutely nothing when it casts the world aside, nothing when it is not selfless.