"Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don’t know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings."
Three years later, a new girl sits cross-legged on your bed.
You say: I dated her a while back.
You say: She was younger than me.
You say: It’s nothing now.