The true blasphemy of literature is the romanticization of romance. They make it beautiful—all soft words, and elegant lines—and enchanting, with magic sparkling in the margins.
And you can feel it in the depths of your soul, an unexplored ocean of laughter and tears and dreams all melded together.
The yearning of a kiss that brushes against the steady and so so warm pulsing beat of life—against the smooth skin of a lovers neck. The desperation to touch another being and feel that they’re alive, right there next to you—right there, and never leaving.
To love and be loved is a jewel among treasures and all that we each seek—all that we each desire.
It burns and it burns and it burns.
“I would know him in death, at the end of the world.”
“Come home and break my heart, if you must.”
“Occasionally, Fate pulls itself together again and Time is always waiting.”
“And perhaps it is the greatest grief, after all, to be left on earth when another is gone.”
“By you, I am forever undone.”
“One word from you shall silence me forever.”
“A heart’s a heavy burden.”
“If you have to go, you know I will go with you.”
And you remember that love like that doesn't exist.
And all you can do is cry.
