Not what will happen - what will you do. Your past is not yet lost. Your future is not yet fixed.

In a thousand years, when I’ve all but forgotten how to love yet again, you’ll flit back into my heart, and I’ll weep, wondering what happened to my mad love.

I am so much more than what you made me.

But loneliness that deep gets into the marrow. Now that I’m here - among friends - I can feel it burning out of me. Little by little, step by step.

I don't mean to judge a book by its cover, but that man is all cover and no pages.