Those who know not love will yearn for them with every passing moment, and those who've found love will rejoice with every passing day in happiness. But for those whose love have come to pass however, they have nothing left for them but memories dyed in monochrome grey. But there's also the other kind, the kinds who tread the rest of their days in cold shivering numbness, for the poisons of love are nothing compared to the chills of the frigid winter mountains.
I'm never proud to be one of the other kinds.
Never proud of it, but never once ashamed.
Because I know I gave all I had when my chance came.