Betsy and I are going to try as hard as we can not to put the burden of that longing on each other,” I said. “Instead, we will comfort each other in the longing and even love it for what it is, a promise that God will someday fulfill us.

Time plays like an accordion in the way it can stretch out and compress itself in a thousand melodic ways. Months on end may pass blindingly in a quick series of chords, open-shut, together-apart; and then a single melancholy week may seem like a year's pining, one long unfolding note.

But I don't think of you.  (Howard Roark)

Written By Ayn Rand

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