We’ll never know for sure what happened. We made mistakes, did stupid things and hurt each other. Our love became horribly wounded. We kept on fighting and our hearts did not heal. I guess we tired of trying to save a love that was terminally ill. T.K.
Love dies because we don’t know
how to replenish its source.
Love dies of blindness
and errors and betrayals.
Love dies of illness and wounds;
it dies of weariness,
of witherings, of tarnishing.