Children grow, lovers bloom and age, years tick by both slowly and quickly.
All things grow, change, and eventually die. Tragedy erupts unexpectedly
and sorrows cry their glittering silver tears. Love is the exception to all
the evil in our polluted world. It can withstand all the terror thrown its
way. Fear and death have no advantage in their battles with true love.
Though destruction may arise and death can tear two apart, nothing ends the
clarified purification that is above all other things.
As seasons change, years pass, and aging becomes more than the painful dreams of youth. Through all changes, love can only be strengthened. Struggles in the lives lived today only help make love become even more powerful and more lively than the day before. Tragic deaths and heartbreaking losses cannot murder the most powerful of Bohemian virtues. Even they know that love has no end.
An ending to a writer is a like a solemn funeral. Though all seems to be through, there is still an afterlife. All true writers know that only two things can and will go on, even beyond the living end. All that survives are writing and true love.
Without these two pieces in our lives, we are all living dead.
As seasons change, years pass, and aging becomes more than the painful dreams of youth. Through all changes, love can only be strengthened. Struggles in the lives lived today only help make love become even more powerful and more lively than the day before. Tragic deaths and heartbreaking losses cannot murder the most powerful of Bohemian virtues. Even they know that love has no end.
An ending to a writer is a like a solemn funeral. Though all seems to be through, there is still an afterlife. All true writers know that only two things can and will go on, even beyond the living end. All that survives are writing and true love.
Without these two pieces in our lives, we are all living dead.