Aren't you amazed

that the Street of Solitude is teeming with people, and that you are never more lonely than you are when with friends?

Yours to comment

Didn't you know

that mists are the souls of forsaken lovers that derive life from the sighs of lovers

at parting

and then only for a moment?

Yours to comment

Do undeliverable love letters close ranks and discuss for eternity the what-ifs, if-onlys and could-have-beens?

Yours to comment

What is sadder, a falling star or a falling kite?

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What is love if not waiting for a century to consume a moment where fire unites with water and where moonbeam and ray of sunlight weave an exquisite pattern that vanishes with a kiss?

Yours to comment

Isn't it brine that runs in the veins of fishermen and isn't the flesh of farmers made of grain?

Yours to comment

What is love

if not a need

to write a short story with lips and to lose identity in her eyes?

Yours to comment