To love is to know, And to know is to love , A bond sacred by intimacy, Not birthed by erratic physicality. No touch, no kiss, no hand I could hold, Could warm the emptiness of my heart, so cold. Two hearts torn a broken hello from opposite sides of the world, Our love simply lost, not permanently lorn. Not by your kiss, not by your hold, Will new love emerge from the fettered old. I miss the warmth of your words Their tantalizing embrace Bonding immeasurable next to mere attraction of face.
. Third had grace, loveliest, angels face, Second had music and long, lithest form, The first was a lark, one amorous affair, All three are now but phantasm, dream, The forests dark, memory— lost to me. .
Why did I get to know about the myriad faces of the game before I even got in the field? Players have told me a lot about the game called love . I never asked them. Some simply did while some needed to talk out to move on. I just happened to be the person they could trust with their darkest secrets. With the tales, my dream of an almost utopian world has receded into the past. Sometimes I just have a minuscule wish to be able to dream of paradise like everyone else.