Because in the end – the only love we have is the love we have given.
I walked my favorite streets
lingered in the sun
heard it being read
wrote my notes on its pages
and read it in cafes, in parks, on the bus
In my bed
I thought of it on my way to work
and enacted it in my dreams during spring nights
I looked its author in the eyes
and asked questions
Some remained unasked.
Others – un-aswered.
I made love to a book for the first time.