Where's the cheek that doth not fade, / Too much gazed at?

I see a lilly on thy brow, / With anguish moist and fever dew; / And on thy cheek a fading rose / Fast withereth too. I met a lady in the meads / Full beautiful, a faery's child; / Her hair was long, her foot was light, / And her eyes were wild.

I have gazed upon the many forms of Maya, in so many ways.

I have your back. I didn't mean only when it's easy. All the time.

Piece by piece,
I slowly fade away,
I slowly drift apart.

And then they kiss.
Slowly, gently.
Because with the right person, sometimes kissing feels like healing.