The slayer of hearts. The slayer who loves, above all, and who is loved. The gentle assassin, me. Unwitting victims from afar, hearts hemorrhaging, morphing into words, spilling out in music and colours. The gentle assassin whose only fault is his limitless heart.
Time to dot the "i"s. Time to breathe and write again, to revel at the small, victorious discoveries. Time to recuperate. Time to love, again. Soon.