A small city on the rim of the Mediterranean Sea, flowing with every wave that carries new images, yet never seeming to seethe with every current that strikes the shore. Wooing, yet skulking, it draws you in, only to spit you out once you become needless.

It hurts; it really hurts not knowing that we failed. But it hurts more when not knowing where failure took place and how it occurred. Even though we felt we were digging in deep down, all the way to the heart of the soul, hoping for a flower to bloom and spread tenderness and care. A flower to flourish and give hope for a love to grow within and to reach all the senses. And yet, we do not recognize it.

— Virgins for Sale, Mitchell Kanaan