You Don’t Know It’s Poison Until You Realize You’re Dying
Three years ago, I was so much in love, I couldn’t even hold a real conversation with anyone. I could look at you, and it would appear as if we were holding a conversation. I was probably nodding in the right places, but I likely wouldn’t have added much. I wasn’t doing it on purpose. If I knew you well enough, I’d probably let you in on my secret that I had absolutely no interest in pontificating on any deep subjects. I couldn’t explain why though because I didn’t understand exactly what was happening at the time. Understanding itself would...