In my dementia: I do not understand love. I do not remember it. I am not a professor of it and I do not use the term lightly — for any term I do not remember or understand, I cannot describe clearly.
I can only look back into the history of my fading memories and try to salvage some ideas, some meanings, some clarity.
Somewhere in the past, sometime in the past, a faint recollection returns to me. I once believed love could achieve everything. My demented mind does not remember if I was right or if I was wrong.
In my delirium: When one hears her cry and sees the tears flowing, and one too begins to well up inside, then consider this love.
When one sees her in pain and all you can think of is how to take the pain away, and would do anything you could to relieve it, then consider this love.
When one hears her with the weakest voice, that breaks your very existence in two, then consider this love.
When the thought of losing someone forever shakes you to the very core, then consider this love.
When one hears her laughing, sees her smiling and it brightens every aspect of your every day, then consider it love.
And when one thinks of her, if it re-energizes, recharges and revitalizes you, consider it love.
And if one believes you can achieve anything with her, consider it love.
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