Nothing ever ends poetically. It ends and we turn it into poetry. All that blood was never once beautiful. It was just red.
When you lose something, don’t think of it as a loss; accept it as the gift that gets you on the path you were meant to travel on.
A person who longs to leave the place where he lives is an unhappy person.
She had an overwhelming desire to tell him, like the most banal of women. Don’t let me go, hold me tight, make me your plaything, your slave, be strong! But they were words she could not say.
The only thing she said when he released her from his embrace was, “You don’t know how happy I am to be with you.” That was the most her reserved nature allowed her to express.