But love is blind and lovers cannot see
The pretty follies that themselves commit;
For if they could, Cupid himself would blush 
To see me thus transformed to a boy.

How our vision is askew wrapped in another, eyes locked.  Senses deluded. With the good comes the bad and both we take without any reservation.  In fact, we welcome both.  Faults of another seem less virulent in love.  A face masked in lovers veil only a counterpart could deem so perfect.  Yes, perfect.  Eyes, nose, lips, making a whole that is ethereal.  Angelic.  Too good to be true.  Perhaps?  But would we want it any other way? 

True love is void of question.  It is certain.