He was a poet -oh all men are when they're in love.
Forgetting: that, too, was the heart's slow way of healing, but it could only be done alone. Love and loss turns us into the most solitary of creatures, their mysteries can never entirely be shared.
I deny the fact that when I kill time, time is actually killing me
Love is a fragile, useless thing. It decomposes easily in the tropic heat.