When it’s late at night and branchesare banging against the windows,you might think that love is just a matter.of leaping out of the frying pan of yourselfinto the fire of someone else,but it’s a little more complicated than that..It’s more like trading the two birdswho might be hiding in that bushfor the one you are not holding in your hand..A wise man once said that lovewas like forcing a horse to drinkbut then everyone stopping thinking of him as wise..Let us be clear about something.Love is not as simple as getting upon the wrong side of the bed wearing the emperor’s clothes..No, it’s more like the way the penfeels after it has defeated the sword.It’s a little like the penny saved or the nine droppedstitches..You look at me through the halo of the last candleand tell me love is an ill windthat has no turning, a road that blows no good,.but I am here to remind you,as our shadows tremble on the walls,that love is the early bird who is better late than never.
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1 comment:
yes, i think so.
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