❝...he was my north, my south,
my east and west, my working
week and my sunday rest, my noon, my midnight, my talk, my song, i thought that love would last forever: i was wrong.

the stars are not wanted now,
put out every one; pack up the moon and dismantle the sun; pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.❞

- funeral blues,
W. H. AUDEN