In the end it is not who we will love that is our choice,
but only whether or not we are willing,
In the end it is our acceptance or denial
of what we truly are that defines our lives,
for even in denial we create by intent.
In the end our bodies are maps,
indelibly marked by the paths we have traveled,
our strengths and scars historical documents,
marking our journey through folly and fate.
In the end what is most precious to us will be the presence of companionship and of certain love,
to comfort us as we begin our journey, into a world as yet unknown.