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320 pages, Kindle Edition
First published February 7, 2017
Like all tragic love stories, she left me....for kindergarten at a different school. On the last day together, Ella gave me a kiss on the cheek. I was embarrassed and ran and hid from her refusing to come out and say good-bye.
I never saw her again.
Because Pablo Neruda was not just one of the greatest love poets.
He was The Greatest Love Poet of all time.
I, on the other hand, am the unluckiest in love. It's not for lack of trying. So far I'm about zero for seven, the names of the girls written on my heart like the scars I can still recall on Ella's knee—Marisol, Stephanie, Jessi, Angela, Trinity, and Elise.
"...secrets are insidious things. The truth wants to be found out."
The ugliest, hardest, meanest men cry when they think no one can hear. They would be ashamed if the knew others could hear, but through all these years, I've clung to that sound because it gives me hope. Makes me realize we are all the same in the middle of the night, fighting against the great tide of loneliness that threatens to drown us. All longing for someone to hear, to truly know us as we are.
