To be the blood that’s
pumping in your heart is the
very thing I want.
Lost love is still love. It takes a different form, that’s all. You can’t see their smile or bring them food or tousle their hair or move them around a dance floor. But when those senses weaken another heightens. Memory. Memory becomes your partner. You nurture it. You hold it. You dance with it.
There are plenty of ways to die, but only love can kill and keep you alive to feel it.