“Were you in love with him?”
“Yes,” I say, simply. James and I put each other through the kind of reckless passions Gwendolyn once talked about, joy and anger and desire and despair. After all that, was it really so strange? I am no longer baffled or amazed or embarrassed by it. “Yes, I was.” It’s not the whole truth. The whole truth is, I’m in love with him still.
Reading Zindanı Baladı
Yet each man kills the thing he loves,
By each let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a flattering word,
The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave man with a sword!
Some kill their love when they are young,
And some when they are old;
Some strangle with the hands of Lust,
Some with the hands of
Kill your darlings
Be careful, you are not in Wonderland. I've heard the strange madness long growing in your soul, in your isolation but you fortunate in your ignorance. You who have suffered find where love hides, give, share, lose, lest we die unbloomed.
But time, as well as healing all wounds, taught me something strange too: that is possible to love more than one person in a lifetime.
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Time has no agenda. You can meet someone and love them right away or grow your love over many years. You could have known someone for eternity and they still could not understand your core existence, yet the stranger at the bus stop knows exactly who you are. Time doesn’t mean a thing. Of all the important things you must do today, there is none greater than showing kindness to your heart. For even the brightest make mistakes and the wisest do not have a thing to say. Be gentle with yourself, forgive yourself, even on your darkest day.
