Sometimes I forget how much you hurt me. I don’t think you ever knew how my heart wept silently over you for years. It was a rewarding torture to love so richly and then live with the loss of you. Even in my darkest hour there has been joy to have loved so deeply. A.G.

If music
be the food of love,
play on,
Give me excess of it;
that surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken,
and so die.
From “Twelfth Night”
by William Shakespeare

Image by George Frederick Watts