A Novel by William Michaelian
Everything that is, isnít.
Everything that isnít, is.
Living is a wonder.
We die one moment, only to be born again the next.
There is no line between sweetness and sorrow, or loneliness and joy.
They are one and the same.
There is only one thing, and that is life itself.
Life is a gift.
It is a moment that lasts forever, and then is quickly gone.
I donít understand it.
I donít understand anything.
I never will.
Love isnít what anyone thinks it is.
It isnít what anyone wants it to be.
It isnít anything at all.
Nothing can exist outside it.
Nothing can survive without it.
And pity the fool who denies it.
My dear, sweet Mary.
I love you.
Uncle Leo loves you.
I donít know who he is, but Iím glad he came along.
Also by William Michaelian: Winter Poems and Another Song I Know
Cosmopsis Books ~ San Francisco
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