Helmet, Armor, Time, Money, Love.

The kind of love that lasts forever.
The kind of love that outlasts explanation.

Yep, that kind.

The inexplicable kind.  The kind that cannot be explained by an affinity for a God or the affinity for a person.  The everlasting, gut punching kind.

The kind that makes you change your ways even though changing your ways has nothing to do with how you express it, kind of love.  The sort that makes you wish you could be a different person.  The kind of love that makes your heart break when there are no more words to say what it is you had to say when you had to say it.  Hell, the mouth only has so much capability inside of it.

That kind of love.

The kind that changes how and what you do despite the fact that change now has no affect on your outcomes, and you do it anyway.

That kind of love.

The kind that tells you explicitly: SEX IS NOT GOING TO HELP OR HELP FIX THIS. and you do it anyway, because you enjoyed snuffling her private parts and she enjoyed yours, snuffling, just that much.  It turns into a private secret box,  permanent.  Oh, please!  Open it up to more!  To more!  Nope.  That's all you will get to know.  Forever.

Mind, body, and soul.  You are cut off.  Wander the waste lands.  Find an amalgam.   Find a new war to fight.   A new fart to sniff.  The embassy is closed.

Write songs about love and body parts and knowledge and loss and wars won.  Write them to whomever.  You'll find your way.  Eventually.  Eventually, having sex on our grave, I will think about you.  And

how I came
to be here.