Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends. (I Corinthians 13: 7-8a ESV)
People think dreams aren't real just because they aren't made of matter, of particles. Dreams are real. But they are made of viewpoints, of images, of memories and puns and lost hopes.
My life is a perfect graveyard of buried hopes.
Books are finite, sexual encounters are finite, but the desire to read and to fuck is infinite; it surpasses our own deaths, our fears, our hopes for peace.
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The heart dies a slow death, shedding each hope like leaves until one day there are none. No hopes. Nothing remains.
I can't set my hopes too high,
'Cause every hello ends with a goodbye.
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