When love dies, it usually gives birth to hate.
A twisted desire of joyous pain, of delicious torture.
When hate dies, it usually gives birth to understanding.
A stark view of the whole picture and the whys and wherefores of actions.
But when romance dies, there is a hole that cannot be filled.
Not by flowers, chocolate, or good intentions that pave the road some of us are on.
Personally, I don't think people realize what they have until it's gone.
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