It is he who wrote “Love is space and time measured by the heart.” It is he who also wrote “Love is a reciprocal torture.” M. Proust.

I am not here to beg the differ, to dissent his point of view. He is correct. Proust is right, to the absolute, in accordance to my experience, that is. I have failed to love, to be loved in both short and long distance relation with people. Maybe, not entirely, but to the extent, with the most important ones–the ones that hurt, anyway.

But I have not given up on Hope. Hope is the only thing that no one from the outside can take away from me. No one can touches it or feels it–but me. It’s mine. Entirely.

Hope is a good thing and I’m sure, no good thing ever dies.