bye-bye love, as in songs. All alone now. It was so sad. Why did such things have to disintegrate like that? Why did longing and desire, and friendliness and goodwill too, have to shatter into pieces? Why did they have to be so thoroughfully over?

I could make myself cry even more by repeating the key word: love,alone, sad, over. I did it on purpose.

Author: Margaret Atwood