I Never Knew What Life

I Like To Read Things I've Read Before. It's Like Listening Over And Over To Your Favorite Song.

It Was As If The Empty Nights Were Made For Thinking Of Him. And Sometimes I Found Myself So Vividly Aware Of Him It Was As If He Had Only Just Left The Room And The Ring Of His Voice Were Still There. And Somehow, There Was A Disturbing Comfort In That, And, Despite Myself, I’d Envision His Face.

Suppose Death Had A Heart To Love And To Release You, To Whom Would He Turn This Passion, Would You Chose A Person From The Crowd There. A Person To Suffer As You Suffer.

What Is Fear After All? It Is Indecision. You Seek Some Way To Resist, Escape. There Is None.

Oh, My Darling, Wish You Were Here! And My Dark Soul Is Happy Again, Because It Does Not Know How To Be Anything Else For Very Long, And Because The Pain Is A Deep Dark Sea In Which I Would Drown If I Did Not Sail My Little Craft Steadily Over The Surface, Steadily Towards A Sun Which Will Never Rise.