I ate some M&Ms, i ate away and eliminated all the colors except those that reminded me of autumn, of that slight chill. The ones that remained i toyed with slowly with a finger, exploring them, curiously, letting my eyes slip out of focus so the colors were all a blur.

I am in love with weather. With th ecolors of fallen leaves, like a fire down to the embers, that warmth and cold all mixed together. Like when I lay in bed at night in winter, blankets wrapped all around me, the warmth that is so exclusive, so entirely my own surrounds me, and i can still feel, with the venturing out of a toe or a nose the brisk air, that chill of life with the comfort of fabric still protecting me . . . . or in his arms with the heat of a body beside me, feeling safe and warm and protected and excited and scared and nervous . . . . and perfectly relaxed.

It is like feeling everythign at once, happy and sad . . . . manic and depressed. For once not caught in an extreme, not a moodswing or a phase . . .

Maybe that is what love is, or what it springs from. From an autmn day, from sitting by the heater in january, from teh first day of spring or sweating in front of a boxfan in the heat of summer.

Its comfo9rt and safety and total relaxation, brimemd by uncontrollable fear and andrenaline . . . . not neat and tidy, imperfect and fidgety. Wonderful and thrilling.

Maybe thats what it is . . . . or at least it is something to make comfortable the meantime.