You need to fall in love once every five years
just for the Heaven of it, the pure ethereal Heaven, just to make sure that you can still feel that feeling like it’s supposed to feel. Faces lure the drifting soul like liquor on the shelf, lining passageways on the halls of memory, mirrors on the walls of home. Just the illusion of love can pick you up by the back of your neck and put you somewhere you’ve never been, no matter how many times you’ve done it before, then draw you slowly toward it like a tractor beam from a sci-fi movie, slow and steady. Love can make you do things you’d never do otherwise, things that would make people think that you’re “out of your mind”. That’s exactly the truth, of course. The trick is to change that love, that blind insane force, whatever it is, into something useful. You can use love like a gravity slingshot to propel you from planet to planet like George of the Jungle swinging though the trees until he smashes into one finally, just like clockwork. If you can let that love inspire you, propel you, gaining speed, then at the last moment fire your rockets just enough to change your trajectory and go into orbit without crashing, then you’ve accomplished something you wouldn’t have otherwise.
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