The problem with love (and associated feelings for those who have logophobia) is that it makes you take things overly seriously - never more than when it has been lost.
The spontaneity, the joy and the wonder are chased out by the little, black terrier.
The seemingly unavoidable and irritatingly persistent question, will I ever feel that way again, repeatedly bludgeons the door of the mind, sending all other thoughts scurrying in to exodus
, robbing you of the taste of the world, making you excessively introspective, depressed, analysing over and over tiny vignettes of the past, even tending to the nihilistic.
And then one day, you suddenly find yourself playing with some kids who don't know how to stop laughing - to the point that you end up covered in their regurgitated chocolaty saliva. And the contagion of capricious laughter infects you, and suddenly even the morose bugger you have been for the last couple of weeks makes you laugh.
And suddenly the weight on your shoulders seems a little lighter, the dark tunnel a little shorter and the world a little tastier.
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