I have a love affair with this world and that is my great tragedy. One man could never be to me what this world is. The insane idea that there should be a love that could be as broad and as flawed as this love I have for the world is lost on me. Only that I would find company to keep as I woo the world and am wooed by her. For the weight of this love I have for the world is too much for me to bear alone, and should I ever succeed at bearing as much of it as I want to, I will need an extra pair of shoulders on which to keep it.
I am worried about. The lovers that pass me by wonder if I will ever love truly. They sing their songs to me and fret for my soul as I leave love behind once again. But I have found that the only love that could entice me to stay with him forever is either that man that could unfathomably entice me to love him more than I love myself, something I can't conceptualize, or that man that could love this world as I do, and join with me in loving... a mutual desire to love each other enough, but not entirely, because we seek to take the world into our grasp, and that requires a reserve of love that is not spent on an individual, not even on ourselves.
"And were an epitaph to be my story I'd have a short one ready for my own. I would have written of me on my stone: I had a lover's quarrel with the world." - Robert Frost