Do you believe in true love or is it the stuff of fiction?
Why are some so lucky, basking in the sun of happiness —
— while others are invisible to life’s greatest joy?
Who am I? Why am I? What am I?
How am I different than every other man?
I have dreams, passions, urges, wild thoughts. But they scare me.
Perhaps it is safer to remain broken. Incomplete.
Or is no one in control of what happens to your heart?