Candles. Only in the dark or poorly-lit. Fireplaces, smoke, smouldering coals and dancing flames. The sound of burning, snapping logs in the winter. Snow, in the first hour before the people wake. So clean and elegant. Pure. Rain, and the sound of its falling - gently or pouring, torrenting wildly down. Mist, and the cool, tingling feeling on the skin. Fog. The delight of total enclosure and dampened sounds. Dead leaves on the ground, and falling all around, floating slowly, serenely down. Glistening ice on branches. The moon glowing softly down at night. Keeping watch.

The ocean. The feel of sand sifting through my toes with every step. Seashells scattered carelessly along the shore. Salty beach air invading my lungs. Cleansing. Water splashing smoothly, licking the sand, dissolving sandcastles. Angrily. Smashing against the rocks, throwing me into its depths. Defeating and being defeated. Palm trees swaying listlessly in the dry summer heat. Rainbow sunsets and sunrises, dazzling the skyline with soft, brilliant tones. Soft and brilliant.

Competition, a challenge. Love, love. Aces. Down the line. The solid feel of a good shot. Good form. Racing heart, sprinting. Scramble to reach the ball. The pace of it, reactions. Always reacting. The excited, calculated feel of an overhead shot. Rush to the net. Chaos. Sprint to the ball, passes, triangles, calculations and endurance. The constant war of strategy and shifting tactics. Footwork. Goals. Saves. The team.

Dancing. The music, the rhythm. A mirror to the heart, thumping, beating. The notes. Mathematical precision. Emotion. Equations. Movement. The slow, calming undulations. Rushing, speeding, faster. Alive. It makes me so alive. Emotions, emotions. Crystallized in rhythm, movement, words. Company. Long walks leading nowhere. Walking and talking. Or silence. Sometimes silence speaks best. Comfort. The feel of another against my skin. The warm touch, breath, another life, but the same. Embrace. So soft and lovely. Love.

My God, I love to love.