sometimes suffering is a choice (and we choose it).

"I thought once love was warm and comfortable, now I know that for me it was always cold.  Like a gale at the end of daylight with the clouds closing the sky and air murderously rustling the treetops. The wind ruffles the hair furiously and the skin turns pale with such a blue undertone. There was no other way for me to love if not in shades of blue, in tears and nights, in the cold touch of your face, in kisses that feel deadly.

Maybe the stinging pain is the fuel of my soul, something that makes me the closest to the ethereal."