rarasekar

The whispers of lust, the silence of celibacy, the joy of pain. O, 'tis no good to reminisce the days of yore! for thee may never be the same once more. I shall live by the day. and thou shalt, for all time, be this way. The death of agony, the beauty of secrecy, the glistering amour. - Hereafter, I have found the soul I once lost.

Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove: O no! it is an ever-fixed mark That looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come: Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

"Anyone who loves must know how to lose themselves and find themselves again." - Paolo Coelho, By The River Piedra I Sat Down And Wept. ..o, and how i long to see thee, my love!