We never know how high we are , Till we are asked to rise , And then if we are true to plan , Our statures touch the skies— The Heroism we recite , Would be a normal thing , Did not ourselves the Cubits warp , For fear to be a King—
Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement. it is not the desire to make every second of the day. It is not lying awake at night imaging that she is kissing every part of your body. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away.
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