When I was younger ...

Tweet

.. I loved this girl. She was 16 years. Her dark eyes fascinated me. But she did not understand ... she care only for money and success, and I, like a stupid, keep trying to explain that life is beyond a fur coat and an expensive perfume .. But this always end with the same: "I will not hear nothing. I'm tired. Believe me that my patience has a limit. I know, I know, for you it does not matter that what I do is totally different than what I want to do ... " Finally, time pass by, patience end up ... and she left. Years left increasingly visible toll on me ... but it does not on her. I've seen her periodically - she was always with another man. All beautiful and fresh, with the same amazing dark eyes ... always cheerful, and was living on the present without any thought to the future. Why would she think to future? But even that is I love on her, the silly intensity with which she lived every moment. With the time, men with whom she spent time were becoming older and wealthier. Her face began to show signs of life stle. When I saw it last time, there was not on the street or at some party - it was at the hospital. I did not stay to see her dying, I just heard the doctor calling for someone with a candle. And now here I am, asking myself: When love dies? The question mean if whether love leaves us or we leave love. Who knows? It's because we are not compelling enough? Because we are not open enough? Because imagination is dying? I do not know when love dies, if love dies a natural death or we must violently kill it every time. I do not know ... But what I know for sure is that it hurts ..