I Hate Rarely, Though When I Hate,

Living Never Wore One Out So Much As The Effort Not To Live.

Our Love Of Each Other Was Like Two Long Shadows Kissing Without Hope Of Reality.

Death From Disillusion Is Not Instantaneous, And There Are No Mercy Killers For The Disillusioned.

Perfection Is Static, And I Am In Full Progress.

Love Never Dies A Natural Death. It Dies Because We Don't Know How To Replenish Its Source. It Dies Of Blindness And Errors And Betrayals. It Dies Of Illness And Wounds; It Dies Of Weariness, Of Witherings, Of Tarnishings.