Today I begin to understand what love must be, if it exists. When we are parted, we each feel the lack of the other half of ourselves. We are incomplete like a book in two volumes of which the first has been lost. That is what I imagine love to be: incompleteness in absence.
Long after moments of closeness have passed,
A part of you remains with me
And warms the places your hands have touched
And hastens my heart for your return.
