You keep waiting and it finally comes, in unfamiliar territory, you find the strangest doors.
If I ever have a love of my own, I hope he looks and acts and dreams exactly like you. Tainted throwbacks sporting suntanned rings, I hope I have the pleasure of taking first. Coupled misery and faded passion monopolize social circles and remind me of my chosen status. To grow old alone puts the fear in even the strongest, but at least my time will be my own, and my passing will not induce sadness, but if it does and I give in to brides in wedding dresses, I hope to leave behind a widower just like you.
The Apple and the birdcage 