Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.
One can not love without opening oneself, and opening oneself, that’s taking the risk of suffering. One does not have control.
This is love: to fly toward a secret sky, to cause a hundred veils to fall each moment. First to let go of life. Finally, to take a step without feet.
O love, if I regret the age when one savors you, it is not for the hour of pleasure, but for the one that follows it.
Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves alone-we find it with another.
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