Love is such a peculiar beast. There are so many layers to it, us, and those we love, and the hardest problem, of course, is that we can't make the other person feel or do or be what we want. I'm grieving more than I ever expected for R**** being gone, because, I suspect, I took him completely and unfairly for granted without paying enough attention to his needs.
Oh, love, that we might sing of thee