Language is like looking at a map of somewhere. Love is living there and surviving on the land. How could two people know each other so intimately without ever having told the old stories? You get to an age where the stories don’t matter anymore, and the stories once told so passionately become a tide that never quite reaches the point of being said. And there is no such thing as fate, but there are no accidents either. I had always loved him and we were always together. Love is like life but starts before and continues after – we arrive and depart in the middle. ~ Simon Van Booy