All of us have two minds, a private one, which is usually strange, I guess, and symbolic, and a public one, a social one. Most of us stream back and forth between those two minds, drifting around in our private self and then coming forward into the public self whenever we need to. Love gives us a heightened consciousness through which to apprehend the world, but anger gives us a precise, detached perception of its own.
In you I thought I had found, someone to share lifes ups and downs. Friends then lovers, I did it right, each day with you in felt so bright.
But I was a fool to think it could last, that for me your heart could beat as fast. Where I gave you my heart for free, you only ever loaned yours to me.
If endless love was a dream, then it was a dream I shared, even more than I shared the dream of never dying or of traveling through time, and if anything set me apart it was not my impulses but my stubbornness, my willingness to take the dream past what had been agreed upon as the reasonable limits, to declare that this dream wasn't a feverish trick of the mind but was an actuality at least as real as that other, thinner, more unhappy illusion I call normal life. I thought You are part of my existence, part of myself. Today I realised, to love and not be loved is to die and not be dead...