He Is Both The Source Of My

I Cannot Think Of A Single Word To Describe What We Feel. I Think We All Feel It, To Varying Degrees. Perhaps In Some Other Language There Is A Word For 'the World Is Terribly Wrong.' That Feeling Of Stun And Unbelief And Abandonment And Shock And Horror And Distress.

Every You, Every Me. Fractals. Fractures.

If There Wasn't A Word For It, Would We Realize Our Masochism As Much?

I Had Forgotten This About Love: How The Simple Things- The Turn Away, The Turn Towards- Could Be So Complicated, And How The Complicated Things- The Stolen Night, The Right Words- Could Be So Simple.

You Like Him Because He's A Lost Boy. Believe Me, I've Seen It Happen Before. But Do You Know What Happens To Girls Who Love Lost Boys? They Become Lost Themselves. Without Fail.