"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." --Anaïs Nin (stolen from a cow)
Oddly enough, this makes me hopeful. For where there is room for weariness, for withering and tarnishing, there's also room for rest and polish and new growth. And where there is a missing source, there may be bold adventures up-river, expeditions and new discoveries. After all, errors are just wanderings and blindness is sometimes just holding your eyes closed against the light.
Basically, I'm a sap.
