When art separates this thick tangle of feelings, love bares its bones.
In the Serengeti of the heart, time and nation are irrelevant. On that plain, all fires are the same fire.
Quartz was a frozen siren that held you in her grasp forever, hard and pure, a woman with a hundred faces.
Art was powerful. It could transform matter, bend time, escape death. It had a magical purpose.
Love speaks in absolutes, but the only absolutes we know are the workings of nature or the mastery of gods.
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