Love lies in those unsent drafts in your mailbox. Sometimes you wonder whether things would have been different if you'd clicked 'Send'.

Who would have listened to his tales of woe when his love was the flickering lamp over his own decaying tomb?

Not watching the path where his legs took him, he walked on because he knew he had to walk ahead, leaving his past behind.

There is no home as comfortable as your father's arms and no bed as soft as your mother's lap.

I eyed her like a thirsty traveler in the desert looks at a pail of water.

Love lies in those unsent drafts in your mailbox. Sometimes you wonder whether things would have been different if you'd clicked 'Send'.

Eye contact is way more intimate than words will ever be.