Love is so short, forgetting is so long. - Pablo Neruda

But once we forget...then what? Do we then become happy again, or in the process lose our capacity for knowing--experiencing, perceiving, appreciating--happiness? With the pain of separation, do we lose the feel of the small of a lover's back? With the shouts, the sweet whispers or the laughter that is the very definition of happiness? With the calloused hands, the soft lips? I'm in such a hurry to forget--looking forward to meeting other people, experiencing new things--that I cannot help but long for the small moments that made me happy (and happy to be happy), and feel the pain of realizing that they were--and are--fleeting. How can a man love if he forgets?

What do you do with the pieces of a broken heart?
And how can a man like me remain in the light?
And if life is really as short as they say, then why is the night so long?

Why does life stop and end when that person appear? And why am I so happy that it does stop? And why am I so sad when it finally begins again? And why am I asking these questions? How can I go through a fifteen hundred-mile drive without my loneliness killing me?