"I wanted to imprint his touch, his taste, even the scent of him so solidly inside me that no one could take them away from me."

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For our part, when we feel, we evaporate; ah, we breathe ourselves out and away; with each new heartfire we give off a fainter scent. True, someone may tell us: you're in my blood, this room, Spring itself is filled with you . . . To what end? He can't hold us, we vanish within him and around him.

— Rainer Maria Rilke