The heart wants what it wants, and it manifests with such funny persistence. Like a trumpet sounding, like the ringing of a bell, like icy cold water poured on your head. Like the swell of the Pacific, salty-sweet and swift. Sometimes like a flock of cranky geese, or a herd of sluggish cattle. Sometimes with clanging pots and pans, right over your head, in the middle of a deep, deep slumber. Sometimes it brings forth an ache or a fever, or an echo throughout your house that won't quite go away. It can seem so unlikely or so complicated, contradicting, so opposite of what you think you should be longing for. And sometimes it is the purest moment of clarity, like (as it was with you) it had been there all along waiting for you to notice it, like an old friend in your livingroom, reading a book and waiting for you to get home.