Beauty's in the eye of the beholder. These things are beautiful in my eyes.
"He touches my knuckle—more like grazes my knuckle—but I am haemorrhaging all over the place anyway. Then a song comes on the café radio and he pulls his hand away, and my cheeks burn because he has removed his hands and also because I don’t like these songs. In them, everything has an ending—everything has a resolution. They never ask questions like: how do you tie an untiable knot? Well the answer is: You melt it. I want to call the radio station and ask: how do you end an unendable love? But I already know the answer: you burn it to the ground."