Beatrice, I will love you if I never see you again, and I will love you if I see you every Tuesday. I will love you as the iceberg loves the ship, and as the passengers love the lifeboat, and as the battlefield loves young men, and as peppermints love your allergies. I will love you as we grow older, which just happened and happened again, and will continue to happen. I will love you until every fire has been extinguished and every home rebuilt, and every code and heart has been broken. I will love you if you marry someone else, and I will love you if have a child, or two children, or three. Seems like a good number. I love you, Beatrice. I always will.