That which lives is destined to die. Love leads to loss. Happiness, should you find it, is inevitably lost. Stolen away by events beyond your control. There is no logic nor meaning in it. You think there is, convince yourselves, but it's all a cruel accident. Your love will never be returned, no matter how loudly you yell into the void. You know this. This is the truth that slithers down your spine when you wake deep in the night. She will never love you as you love her, just like every other woman that has quickened your heart and anointed your palms with sweat. Ever has it been thus, the sooner you accept this, the easier it will be.
