A thing perhaps for eternity! Kreiling was right.
Kenny's irreverent philosophy of the heart crumbled into ashes at his feet.

Love he had once believed was poetic like summer lightning.

It flashed, blinded in a glory of light and disappeared.

If it lingered it would lose its mystery, It was a quest in which the emotion was paramount; the object that inspired it merely essential and subordinate.

Love was the only thing in the world worth while but though a poet's love might fill his life with a perpetuity of delight the object was bound to be a variant.