A Loss Of Sensibility Follows A Loss

Was I The Only Woman In The World Who, At My Age - And After A Lifetime Of Quite Rampant Independence - Still Did Not Quite Feel Grown Up?

I Have Noticed That Rooms Which Are Extra Clean Feel Extra Cold

Only Half A Page Left Now. Shall I Fill It With 'i Love You, I Love You'-- Like Father's Page Of Cats On The Mat? No. Even A Broken Heart Doesn't Warrant A Waste Of Good Paper.

Just To Be In Love Seemed The Most Blissful Luxury I Had Ever Known. The Thought Came To Me That Perhaps It Is The Loving That Counts, Not The Being Loved In Return -- That Perhaps True Loving Can Never Know Anything But Happiness. For A Moment I Felt That I Had Discovered A Great Truth.

The Key To All Knowledge Comes In Words Of Just One Syllable, Apparently.... There's Only The Last Page Left To Write On. I'll Fill It With Words Of Just One Syllable. I Love. I Have Loved. I Will Love.