‘This show is a roller coaster of emotions – there’s comedy, anticipation, tears of joy… and no-one can take an audience on a better ride than that.’   ~Andrea Wong

Sometimes I cry when I’m overwhelmingly happy.

This can be disconcerting to observers, especially when they are more than observers and are actual participants in my happiness.  This might be most disconcerting to unsuspecting lovers.

Sex can sometimes make me very happy.  Happy to the point of overflowing tears.

There is a moment – you know the one, when I no longer need air, when I am wrapped in the splendor of split light, when whatever I once was has dissolved into the stardust of the universe – when all that remains is a suffusion of joy and love…

And tears.

I have known this state of moist emotion at the vast love that I have for another, at the expansion that happens when all the seeds of creation are waiting to germinate and bloom in the warmth of the love radiating from within me.

I have known this state of damp sensation at the immense love that another has offered me, at the sanctuary that exists when they have draped my body, mind and soul with the verdant branches of loving me so well.

I have known this flowing phenomenon at the great sadness that follows the pressing recognition that both stimuli are not present, together.

Why does it seem as if the balance of loving and being loved is just too delicate to achieve?

Why would I experience such ardorous depths for one who will never comprehend them?  Who will never value them or me or us in the same way?

Why would the profound tenderness and delight I have for another not match the passion proffered?   The adoration so worthy of being returned?

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