A great fire burns within me, but no one stops to warm themselves at it, and passers-by only see a wisp of smoke.
It’s not hard to feel. It’s hard to feel again.
Because that’s what she should lose, to come alive.
The only people up at 3 am are in love, lonely, drunk, or all three.
“But nobody ever forgot anything, not really, though sometimes they pretended, when it suited them. Memories were permanent. Sorrowful ones remained sad even with the passing of time, yet happy ones could never be recreated - not with the same joy. Remembering bred its own peculiar sorrow. It seemed so unfair: that time should render both sadness and happiness into a source of pain.”
― Rohinton Mistry, A Fine Balance