She could have wait till love dies…

She was no simple girl. She had dreams galore. She climbed mountains. She conquered me. Now she is gone. The confession that she is no more piles up a pressure inside me to face the tide. Tide of time and live and live and live in her love. How tough it can be, I didn’t realize until she appears again. Remembering the person who has left and the facing the same person with a different identity invites more than a living confession.

I count her the best person ever live, for me. Now, I remember her as the only one for me. Although there is no difference between these two elapsed propositions, I still think as if I am the one who has changed, unlike her. It’s like I wished to miss her and she’s gone. Had I become little more possessive, she would still be here, next to me. I should have told her: We need to wait till love dies, instead! That never happened and I am alone.