Hello Stranger!
Let me tell you what just crossed my mind:
When you love somebody, you give a piece of your heart, never expecting it back.
If it’s protected, good—you’re happy.
But if not, stranger,
there’s a missing piece, a tear, a wound
to make your heart grow bigger.
So darling stranger
here you gotta a big heart, a pleasant aftermath
Even pain has its own kind of art—an acquired taste, unique in its appreciation.
So, cheers to the tears and wares, stranger!
Or—if this is utter nonsense—perhaps,
stranger,
we could try not to be strangers
for, say, four decades and some more—if that's an option?