True Love in the Time of Impermanence

Part I

Everything changes.  Impermanence is just the

way things are.  Ashes to ashes.  Soon enough, I
will be dust and even if you haven't quite personalized
that for yourself yet (insert name here), you will soon
enough be dust, too.  Maybe you are just someone else
interested in the scary idea of impermanence and have
been conducting your own research investigation.  Maybe
I was a footnote you found, an example, an illustration.  I am
still sorting through my own search results; google discovers
new ones every day.  The card catalogue is dusty now, rendered
obsolete, an anachronism, like a God I once knew.  Or maybe
I had not understood.  No matter, let us say I am speaking
things into existence while I still can.  Before I change form,
not essence, there is this one thing I intend to have in my life
for as long as my impermanence lasts: True Love.  Maybe you
thought I had that once, maybe I thought so, too.  It's easy
to be fooled sometimes, especially if your own certificate of
appraisal was significantly below actual value:  It tends to skew
your bargaining power.  You naively haggle from a disadvantage.  Then
one day a certified letter arrives and suddenly you find you are
the missing princess.  Royal switcheroos are intriguing but I do not
want to lose my focus.  I do not think there is much time left for
error, not anymore.  So, think of me describing True Love in exquisite
detail to protect the innocent.  Think of me populating a map
with all sorts of items in the legend, things you'll only see if you
zoom way in up close.  Think of this intention as a ruling out
of impostors.  Let the priests tell the scribes to have their quills
at the ready.  Let their ink be permanent, if ecclesiastical
rules permit.  Let the insivisible promise be on its way. 

Part II

First, write True Love.  Then, build it as a house.  Flesh out your
dream.  Next, draft the architect's version.  Gather any missing materials.
Lay a foundation that will not crack.  Make the basement deep, pay attention
to the attic. Do not neglect the corners or the plumbing.  Include
ornamental details.  Or, write it like a recipe. First sit down and think.  Close
your eyes and listen.  You will hear your tastebuds and your stomach
talking; salivating is natural.  Don't forget to consider your digestion.  Then,
without any cookbooks to make you feel guilty or dumb, write your
ingredients and amounts and directions.  Make enough so you won't
run out.  Or, tailor it like a suit.  Stand before the mirror with a tape
measure.  Turn this way and that. Write down every inch, every bump,
every angle.  Transfer numbers to the cloth and cut. Sew the seams
securely, leave extra material in the hem just in case. Don't scrimp on
what matters and don't leave off the lace.  With regard to True Love, it's
best to be specific in advance.  It helps you recognize what's yours
et nul autre's.  We are both already here, according to Rumi. I flow
out. The beloved flows in. Our waters swirl together and evaporate
to become invisible permanence.  We've been in each other
all along.