“All things pass away. Love may live for a month or a year, but sooner or later, it leaves.” I stopped working with the mortar. “No,” I told her, because my heart knew better. “That is not true.” “Have you lived so long as I?” she asked. “I don’t know,” I told her. “But I have lived long enough to know that love doesn’t die.” I might not remember my wife’s face or her name, but I remembered her smell, the touch of her hand, and the sound of her laughter. Not even the witch’s magic could steal that from me. I loved my wife still, and the pain of her loss burned in my heart. “Not if you cherish it. Love, like any living thing, needs to be fed. Only if you starve it will it die.”
Book:Shifting Shadows
