Love doesn't exist to meet your expectations.

I write a lot of poems in my head while I'm walking in the woods and too often, lately, I neglect to ever write them down. At the same time I am growing more comfortable with allowing things--moments, experiences, feelings, ideas, (poems)--to be fleeting. To be there and then to be gone. I may never again think about the sunset over the river today, how the sky flashed gold behind me, startling my eye such that I thought, for a moment, I was being followed.