When you love someone, you do not love them all the time, in exactly the same way, from moment to moment. It is an impossibility, it is even a lie to pretend to. We have so little faith in the ebb and flow of life, of love, of relationship. We leap at the flow of the tide and resist in terror its ebb. We are afraid it will never return - and sometimes indeed it doesn't as a way to reveal oneself. We starve at the edge of permanency and continuity ; when the only continuity possible, in life as in love, is in fluidity, in a rolling freedom, as in the sense that dancers are free : barely touching as they pass, but bound partners in the same pattern.
