I did not love wisely but then, how does one do so? Love is not something one does with careful preparation it is not in fact something one does, per say, or has done to them. All the times the very few times I have “done” love (not to be confused with “making” love, or the “doing” of a person—which brings up odd connotations of a Sopranos’ Episode) I have more fallen into it an accidental sort of endeavor like tripping down a flight of stairs or bumping into a tourist in Times Square they too busy staring up at the sights and myself too busy worrying about being late or being run over by a taxi, never expecting a hit-and-run by a man holding a Lonely Planet Guide to The Big Apple. So, No, I have not loved wisely —though I put as much wisdom as I had into every experience— instead I have blundered into fallen down stumbled over love bashed myself on the head offered where I wasn’t welcome and made a right mess of it. But that’s okay. Such things are messy. If you don’t need a bib to love, and perhaps a handy wipe than I’d double check just to make sure it was the real deal and that if you turned it over to look at the bottom it didn’t say in small letters “Made in Taiwan” (or flipping open the front cover you wouldn’t see the words “Abridged Version…”) But then I’m just a kid, what do I know? Only a kid would spend 272 words pondering the actuality of love. Whatever that means.