His face in the distance of my future is crystal clear amongst the blurs of extraneous objects swiftly brushing past my ear, which I interpret as the rest of my life. In a sense nothing has meaning. But his face is still there. Like cruising through a tunnel with whisked watercolors and graffiti spewed across the narrow slick walls. One way, one lane. Instantaneously, the walls broke free around me and the colors flourished, became less intense, less intimidating. The road then widened and naturally an earth science filled the gaps of where the tunnel once was with his presence, preventing me from surrendering into the outward pull. I became grounded with a sense of belongingness. The very soul that captured mine and kept it from flourishing is the soul of the only man I will surrender to. Souls engaging and speaking of being grounded when souls have no end have met a miracle. That miracle is love.