Today I begin to understand what love must be, if it exists. When we are parted, we each feel the lack of the other half of ourselves. We are incomplete like a book in two volumes of which the first has been lost. That is what I imagine love to be: incompleteness in absence.
I''m so tired but I can''t sleep. . .
Standing on the edge of something much deep. . .
Its funny how we feel so much but cant say a word. . .
We are screaming inside but can’t be heard. . .
