Much of what I do is in the pursuit of love. And much of what I say can be rearranged to form the question, "Do you love me, too?"

Perhaps I am asking too daring a question. Perhaps I am a fool. Because more than once now, I have found myself overwhelmed by despair when love, offered, meets little in return.

It is gut-wrenching. Harrowing. It is terrible. Terrible! It is world-ending.

It becomes teardrops dampening my pillowcase and long walks in silence. It turns into staring at the face in the mirror and wondering why? Why? Why? Why?

But there always comes an unexpected reprieve. A long response to something I said a while ago. A warm embrace encoded in English text. A reminder.

And with every word, the whys dissolve, slowly, until they stop asking to be answered at all.