The beginning of love is the will to let those we love be perfectly themselves the resolution not to twist them to fit our own image. If in loving them we do not love what they are but only their potential likeness to ourselves then we do not love them we only love the reflection of ourselves we find in them
Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we dont know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds it dies of weariness of witherings of tarnishings.