Infatuation.

This, at its best, is madness, and at its worst, is futility's shattered glass, amassed on the floor in a well swept heap but undisposed of.

"When it's madness to hope, perhaps one's only hope lies in madness."

It was nice driving home from Alvin's new and perfect smelling home as the sun set. It was nice to think life might be a little Christmassy whenever I would take the time and effort to search for Christmas. That special feeling. Of being alone with my Lord, and living, knowing, living in knowing.