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.
''''FaCt Of LiFe''''
When u StaRt CarRiNg AbOuT YOURSELF
You StaRt LoViNg SOMEBODY . . .
BuT
WhEn YoU StArT CaRiNg AbOuT OTHERS
SOMEBODY StArTs LoViNg U . . .
