17

Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away,

and this is both an art and a fortunate accident.

Your mother and I had it, we had roots

that grew towards each other underground,

and when all the pretty blossom had fallen from our branches

we found that we were one tree and not two.”

– Louis de Bernieres, “Captain Corelli’s Mandolin”

I want so desperately to have that love. Forever.

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