Odd to think that the piece of you I know best is already dead. The cells on the surface of your skin are thin and flat without the blood vessels or nerve endings. Dead cells, thickest on the palms of your hands and the soles of your feet.

Love demands expression. It will not stay still, stay silent, be good, be modest, be seen and not heard, no. It will break out in tongues of praise, the high note that smashes the glass and spills the liquid.

When pieces of work speak to us in a way that feels as if they were made just for us, those become our private worlds that we return to.

However it is debased or misinterpreted, love is a redemptive feature. To focus on one individual so that their desires become superior to yours is a very cleansing experience.

I think it would be very foolish not to take the irrational seriously.

I wanted to cause trouble, but I know now it stays with you.

If you should leave me, my heart will turn to water and flood away.