I have spent all my life resisting the desire to end it.
With my teeth clenched, however, and with your eyes before me I can endure anything: distance, anxiety, worry, letterlessness.
Moreover, perhaps it isn’t love when I say you are what I love the most - you are the knife I turn inside myself, this is love. This, my dear, is love.
“I miss you deeply, unfathomably, senselessly, terribly.”
“I’m tired, can’t think of anything and want only to lay my face in your lap, feel your hand on my head and remain like that through all eternity.”
― Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena
You are the knife I turn inside myself; that is love. That, my dear, is love.