Why is there ever this perverse cruelty in humankind, that makes us hurt most those we love best?
The pain of the flesh is naught to that of the heart
I wondered if he could ever understand that it was a blessing, not a sin, to be graced with more than one love. It could be complicated; of course it could be complicated. And it opened one up to the possibility of more pain and loss. Still, it was a blessing I would never relinquish. Love, genuine love, was always a cause for joy.
Pain obliterates everything else. In pain, there is only the eternal present.
Pain redeems all. It is the awareness of life, a reminder of death.
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