Melancholic love frictions? when love destroys, obliterates, annihilates, and comes to go without memories nor living lives left to tell about the loving experience? when love has a friction that creates its own infinity, a way through which nothing goes until that very distinct conductive sensation comes? When love leaves wishing to be hanging rather than dangling from on to on through on, on without an off let alone a non? When love wipes smiles into another universe of forgetful forgotten speculations? When love is endlessly drinking a relentless brew made of a roasted you – and you begin researching for a clue how such a you has ever evolved? When love keeps being not without ever being while going on popping and maintaining a leap from an abysmal friction to another – and – life can not seem to survive unless the last love-abyss-leaping is a future wishing to have never been neglected?