A year passed from then, but it felt like ten entwined in this limerence. I can see that I’d rather not love nomadically, so why not settle on this? I was aware of the non-essentiality of perfection, the impossibility of it, but when she was so close to it, how could I resist this affection? The answer being obvious, I continued reluctantly, reconfirming my suspicions and falling even more. She wasn’t close to it – she was it. I was aware of my constricted view, my willing ignorance of her lack of direction, but could her flaws create something more? Her brokenness increased allure, made her more than ideal; we could be two faithful woes together. Albeit, I would prefer to feel otherwise, but it is impossible to climb that which is unscalable.