Like falling in love for the first time all over again, all sugary at times, yet as pure as the clear blue sky in summer; yet flawed as the rainbow, with colours peeling off at it's end, meeting the horizon.
Ah...puppy love, passion deep as the autumn red of maples shading innocent hearts. Alas! A young lad I am not, only to see love through a glass jar, distorted by city's colourful lights. The loss, the parting of the dead and living, that pricks the heart ever gently, yet no tears flowed, for it has hardened - like stone. Well said, the author, that death of one's love all but makes us better persons. For we suffer on behalf, in the years left behind - alone, yet never apart.
1 comment:
sounds like a book that would make me cry a lot...
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