
Whispered goodbye and she got on a plane, never to return again. I don't know what she is made of, I would like to be that brave.

We cling to music, to poems, to quotes, to writing, to art because we desperately do not want to be alone. We want to know we aren't going crazy and someone else out there knows exactly how we are feeling. We want someone to explain the things we can't.
"Je sais de quelles petitesses meurent les plus grandes amours."
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