“Because, if you could love someone, and keep loving them, without being loved back . . . then that love had to be real. It hurt too much to be anything else.”
― Sarah Cross, Kill Me Softly
after an exercise he says: so, does he know that you are in love with him?
me: no.
him: will you ever tell him?
me: no.
him: because you love him that much?
me: yes.
him: you'd die for this love?
me: i have.
him: time and time again... that kind of love; poets write about that kind of love.
me: **silence**
him: you need to tell him.
me: no, i don't. loving him is enough for me. i don't need the veil of telling him. (“Love is a veil betwixt the lover and the beloved.” - Baha’u'llah).
him: then, how will he know.
me: what makes you think he doesn't...
somethings are better left silent, so that in the light of it all they don't burn away... but then again, i tend to empathize with moths.
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