Letting him go There is a particular kind of suffering to be experienced when you love something greater than yourself. A tender sacrifice. Like the pained silence felt in the lost song of a mermaid; or the bent and broken feet of a dancing ballerina...
Neither here, nor there. But everywhere.
Love is a game of tic-tac-toe, constantly waiting for the next x or o.
Her heart is played like well worn strings In her eyes the sadness sings Of one who was destined of better things
We spoke on the phone for the first time that morning. My back against the chest of drawers, my knees tucked under my chin. At some point in the following months, our conversation turns.
