A sort of truce with time, deep contentment, like a child lying on a freshly mown lawn in a large park early Autumn, relaxedly watching the slowly moving clouds, the moist green smell of grass, the passing sounds suspended in amber. Every moment seems to fully unfold, to blossom completely in the now. This is a deeply individualised state, you feel immensely and properly yourself, you are at the source of love and it is yourself, only and ever yourself. The aesthetic only produces an eidetic version of such a state at the second remove - people will pay a small fortune for it - while romantic love is a sort of operatic version, staged, musicalised, spiced with pleasure, with high drama, urgency, but the same state at a single remove - people throw away their lives for it.