Love is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have become so entwined together that it is inconceivable 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. That is just being in love which any of us can convince ourselves we are. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. Those that truly love have roots that grow towards each other underground and when all the pretty blossoms have fallen from their branches they find that they are one tree and not two.