What you want is a love that consumes the both of you. A roaring fire that was conceived as such. It did not start out as an ember. It did not wait for kindling and oxygen, and the right conditions to combust; no, it had always been a forest fire; it had always been a Hindenburg, of sorts, that, spontaneously, lit up the tranquility of a spring time moon. But be careful. This love cannot engulf just you. If it does, abandon hope of ever grasping complete happiness and prepare to embark upon a journey in which you will return broken. Desolate. Humiliated. Lost. All before you can regain, if you ever manage to, the composure you had before. My advice to you is to never fall in love, or fall close to anything similar to it. Live your life free of sentimental restraints and live it well. Be the hedonist the average man can never be, and become no man's dog, because that is what we who fall in love are: dogs, mistreated ones that are shown cruelty and kindness, each in equal measure; the former of which always follows the latter, but somehow the ecstasy we feel is always worth the anguish. Yet, despite my warning, if you somehow find yourself at the gates of Eden where I, and countless other like myself have visited, and you cannot bear but to enter and see what future awaits you at the hands of your heart's new master, I pray the spirits are kind and show favor towards your cause. I pray you and your lover stand opposites upon each side of the gold and ivory colossus, and when the lock is pierced and the gate parts down its core, you are met with reality and not fantasy. That the all consuming fire takes hold of you, and her, and begins to turn both your bodies into tokens for the gods of your respective loves. For each other. You are immolated for her, and she for you, and when the flame has run its course, and your flesh and hers have been burnt down to the last atom, your ashes dance in the breeze, falling gracefully, and ardently, upon the brows of the dogs that will never share your fate.