At a young age, I fell in love with life, and this tempestuous affair has continued ever since.
Many times my lover has infuriated me, driven me to distraction and despair and forced me to question my commitment to the relationship. At times it has seemed almost abusive, the way life would harass me and make me feel small.
I've considered leaving, I've thought about escaping this fierce love that terrrifies as often as it exhilarates. So many times I've felt that the relationship is just too much work, and quitting would be the only way to make things better. But always that love has kept me bound.
And no doubt it will continue in much the same way. The days when life and I are so attuned that colours blaze brighter and my heart swells with joy and exultation at the love I have found, will always be followed by the days when I feel out of love, when I feel that irreconcilable differences have widened the chasm between us to the point where there is nothing to be done. Days when my devotion to life is so complete that my only regret is that the time we're allowed to spend together is so short will be followed by days when everything seems dull and painfully eternal, and my wandering eye catches sight of the alluring alternatives, days when I may casually flirt with others and wonder if the grass really would be greener on the other side. The threat of these dalliances might always hang over us, I might always be subject to these doubts over whether I made the right decision committing to this affair that causes such pain and uncertainty.
And yet I can't leave. I must stay, and ride the peaks and troughs, and find out what happens next. Because I fell in love with life, and by now it is almost as if I cannot live without it.