http://www.artparasites.com/when-a-writer-falls-in-love/ 

Falling in love with a writer and the way it happens. We love differently and break differently. 

   

 

“You speak so many bloody languages and yet you never want to talk.” 

  

Earlier today, completely unprepared and taken by surprise, I was asked to speak on stage about poetry. What poetry and I am missing a part of me, a part that has been severed and decapitated, not by any choice of mine. Funny, I wished you were there. I wished I could call you, hear the excitement in your voice, hear you say “I am so proud of you.” The way you used to say it, thinking that my achievements were yours, the way you’d say “it’s like looking at my twin, I even sound like you” and I would smile and agree. I wished you’d still exist. The worst part is death… Of everything. I used to think even death was negotiable. I was beyond wrong. It doesn’t matter what I wish, because the universe stops listening at some point. 

With a great loss, you realize later why the loss was so huge. It was the death of a dream. The death of hope.