I knew exactly what I was doing: I was doing nothing. because I knew there was nothing to do.
Charles BukowskiA love like that was a serious illness, an illness from which you never entirely recover.
Charles BukowskiMy dear, Find what you love and let it kill you. Let it drain you of your all. Let it cling onto your back and weigh you down into eventual nothingness. Let it kill you and let it devour your remains. For all things will kill you, both slowly and fastly, but itโs much better to be killed by a lover. ~ Falsely yours
Charles Bukowski