If you're tired of being passed from arm to arm to arm like a child carried by every guest at its naming ceremony;
Or you're tired of taking detours, avoiding some streets because in them you have erected monuments of heartbreak which you haven't forgiven yourself for;
Perhaps you're tired of being trifled with like a slab of meat on the butcher's table that everyone fingers and haggles without buying;
If you're tired of having lost your originality because your ideas have been drowned by voices of lovers past;
Then you need some time away to breathe.
Love is magical, I know, but it's dazzling splendour is not your prescription for such a time as this.
Love is sweet, I understand, but you've had too much of it that it has drilled holes in your teeth.