I remember what happened after I lost my love, my life of dark winter without passion or depth fizzled out drifting me in black mood.
Dark Winter
Happy
"Happy" isn't what she hoped it would be, love is a mystery - desire a depth haunted by inevitable imperfections.
I Did Not Love
It was marvelous to discover that I did not love. I dare say, I seemed all tenderness before you: But the depth of the absurdity - of genuine idiocy, that I could love. I have avoided this.
