Sometimes love is like a vine: rampant, tangled, promiscuous, short lived.

   Those appealing to our "better natures" often define love as enduring, pure, and singular. Like a tree, I suppose. True Love they call it. But if this is true, then True Love is sterile, domesticated, like a tree in a carefully managed garden, or perhaps a dry field, the tree standing alone in withered grass.

   Love "True and Pure" is an Ideal, unrepresentative of most lived experience. And I have not seen anything remain pure and unyielding when shared between people.