“Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.”
- Anais Nin
The sun rises in the east and sets in the west.
Between blue-socked feet propped on the dashboard, the lines, the miles, the day goes gently by.
Asha Bhosle pronounces shlokas. Michael Stipe cries about the way you dream. And for a moment, my world is perfect.
Photo of Balanese dancer dolls by David Katzenstein from Corbis
2 comments:
great quote, so true. thanks for sharing your moment :)
Thanks for stopping by :)
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