Lost love is still love. It takes a different form, that’s all. You can’t see their smile or bring them food or tousle their hair or move them around a dance floor. But when those sense weaken, another heightens. Memory. Memory becomes your partner. You nurture it. You hold it. You dance with it.

Life has to end. Love doesn’t.

Mitch Albom, The Five People You Meet in Heaven

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Sometimes I can hear my bones straining under the weight of all the lives I’m not living.

― Jonathan Safran Foer, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close