C'est l'amour !

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments; love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
bends with the remover to remove:
O, no, it is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wand'ring bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his heighth be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
Perhaps it was worth a try to open up to the special woman residing secretly in his heart.

This is the 116th Sonnet written by Shakespere.
A beautiful description of what many crave for but few are blessed with. He/she who has found this love is truly blessed with the rarest of gifts. He /she who understands its value and cherishes it will attain the truest level of bliss!