What is more beautiful, my love? Love lost or love found? Don’t laugh at me, my love. I know it, I’m awkward and naive when it comes to love, and I ask questions straight out of a pop song. This doubt overwhelms me and undermines me, my love. To find or to lose? All around me, people don’t stop yearning. Did they lose or did they find? I can’t say. An orphan has no way of knowing. An orphan lacks a first love, a love for his mama and papa. That’s the source of his awkwardness, his naiveté. You said to me, on that deserted beach in California, “you can touch my legs.” But I didn’t do it. There my love, is love lost. That’s why I’ve never stopped wondering since that day, where have you been and where you are now? And you, shining gleam of my misspent youth, did you lose or did you find? I don’t know, and I will never know. I can’t even remember your name, my love. And I don’t have the answer. But this is how I like to imagine it, the answer. In the end, my love, we have no choice. We have to find.[in a letter]
People are all just people, right? When it gets down to it, everyone’s the same. They love something. They want something. They fear something. Specifics help, but specifics don’t change the way that everyone is vulnerable. It just changes the way that we access those vulnerabilities.
I ain’t no hard rock like you, but when it comes to my girl, I’m all heart. I’m do or die. So, kill me all you want to. Stab your hate into my love. You might kill me, but you’ll never beat me. ‘Cause I got love, and you’ll probably never even know what that is.