Everyone thinks I’m fine. I’m the only one that knows something is slowly dying inside me. Every day it decays a little more, festering into an unrecognizable form. You left me behind and alone to be the slayer of the love that once lived in my heart for you. E.L.
Love is a great poet,
its resources are inexhaustible,
but if the end it has in view
is not obtained,
it feels weary and remains silent.