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Love dies when the lover in us dies. It snaps when the lover in us gives up in defeat. When the cold, practical us takes over the the self-image of us a lover. When the lover in us wins, the practical us recedes and the magic takes over, and when the lover in us loses, the practical us takes over and the magic recedes and the more the lover in us dies, the less courage we have in magic until we reach a point where we even disbelieve the very notion of magic, and magic within us. Who would believe the madness of moonlight in broad daylight? Love dies from hunger for love that love is unable to feed. If I tell you that just as the cold rays of harsh sunlight shall give away to the silver cool of the moonlight beams, your disbelief can turn to magic,are you going to believe? That the stars are there even during the day, that we are the ones unable to see, would you believe?
