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Just as the wave cannot exist for itself, but is ever a part of the heaving surface of the ocean, so must I never live my life for itself, but always in the experience which is going on around me.
"His hands are holding my cheeks, and he pulls back just to look me in the eye and his chest is heaving and he says, "I think," he says, "my heart is going to explode," and I wish, more than ever, that I knew how to capture moments like these and revisit them forever.
Just as the wave cannot exist for itself but is ever a part of the heaving surface of the ocean so must I never live my life for itself but always in the experience which is going on around me.
Poetry is a beautiful way of spoiling prose and the laborious art of exchanging plain sense for harmony.
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