I read his book and thought of you:
"For there was a dream of an affair of a 100
nights, where you were his and I was hers; and in that cloak of darkness, we met. We met to escape the problems of love. We met without pretensions of loving or being loved,
yet always in the hope of finding
something, that resembled love.
Forgetting is a long long time. And I’m still in the remembering to forget. And though I still remember, I have learnt too: that I would rather love than dream; I would rather problems than pretense.
"I wish you well. I wish the best for you. And I wish one day, I may forget to remember."
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