...

This is a new type of being in love. In my first months of discovering you, you became a flickering light, an increasing compulsion to stray from the lines, a craving for ice cream with honeyed almonds. You were building curiosity, excitement, and the joy of a secret yet to be revealed. I fell into you a bit like I imagine one falls into psychosis; without realizing it at first, and then discovering and having to somehow deal with the complete reorganisation of reality. Before, I never knew that there were sharks living behind bathroom mirrors, but now that I had seen them, there really was no denying them. With you in it, the world was made anew as it had always been. There was fear and struggle, but ultimately it was never a question - of course I had to love you.

This time it's different. This is the second stage of insanity. This is where I start to forget which parts of the mess of glass and wing-dust and gentle electric currents are you and which are me. It isn't really important to me either, for it isn't about falling anymore. I accept now that the sharks are probably just a result of brain signals gone haywire for biological reasons, the reproduction of the species, etc, but just as an adult who has come to realise that God is mostly made in man's image and still chooses to believe, I don't care about that. I like those sharks. I like you. From a stage of becoming we have moved into being, and it's just as exciting, just as rich. This is about rising.