When you are young, love is a flame that burns. It is all you can feel, an ecstatic burn, nerve ends blunted. Until the inevitable moment when you wake up -- when the truth of the burn hits you, the flame of fools.
And when you're older, it is the gentle caress of a question, a feather blowing to and fro, that you follow with your eyes and gamble on.
I have always gambled and lost.
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