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Captain Correlli's Mandolin

Love is a temporary madness, it erupts like volcanoes and than subsides.
And when it subsides you have to make a decision.
You have to work out whether your roots have so entwined,
That it is inconcievable that you should ever part.

Because this is what love is.

Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement.
It is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion.
It is not the desire to make love every second minute of the day.
It is not lying awake at night imagining they are kissing every inch of your body.

Don't blush, I am telling you some truths.

That is just being "In Love", which any fool can do.

Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away.
And this is both an art and a fortunate accident.

We had roots that grew towards each other underground.
And when all the pretty blossom had fallen from our branches,
We found that we were one tree and not two.

But sometimes the petals fall away and roots have not entwined.
Imagine giving up your home and your family only to discover after six months.
A year. Three years. That the trees grew no roots and have fallen over.
Imagine the desolation. Imagine the imprisonment.

Because you didn't find love.

Perhaps there is an equation to be balanced.
With love on one side and dishonour on the other.

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