All sad love stories sound somehow a little bit boring: The plot is, either you love me, but I don’t love you, or we love each other but we can’t be together.
But if this is your story, especially if it is a sad story for you, then you will replay all of its details thousands of times, you will chew and digest, and it comes out the other end as more than it has really been. You feel like you have missed a whole world, and nobody can make you happy anymore.
This is how you have been in my memory: The first day you entered my life, your humble green dress and the yellow flower pinned on your hair attracted me at once. You walked in the wind wrapped with a beige shawl and you glanced at me with a barely noticeable smile. I considered it was a symbol of acceptance. Then we hung out a few times together. You always walked one or two steps after me, and every time I turned my head toward you, I could see your natural face was as pure as a full moon. I secretly examined you for any hints of your attraction to me—that would excite me. I was fascinated by a world which was created by myself, even though you had never told me anything about your feelings for me—I thought you were simply shy. I loved you devotedly and I sacrificed myself to please you; I wished all my efforts would be rewarded by your love.
Then you avoided seeing me—Without hesitation, without explanation. In those days, I acted like an old dog, begging for your return, licking your feet for sympathy. I cursed the world and your stone heart, I made myself become the most miserable man.
Gradually, my wound started to heal by itself—Primarily because you had never responded to me. I buried you in my memory deeply; I pretended that nothing had happened. Then, until years later, I saw you on the street unexpectedly. You walked together with a man; you laughed broadly. You still looked as plain as before but this time you also looked like anyone else on this street. I stood still; I hid myself in a corner, where you couldn’t see me, but I could see you well. With this fair distance, time and space, once more I re-examined us: Are you the same woman that I have dreamt about day and night? Where is that purest moon face? Could I be the man who brings you big joys like the one walking with you now? I had imagined a lot of romantic stories between us, but what I had seen on that street belonged to none of them. It could be that when I loved you, my enthusiasm made me blind and selective—Which had successfully convinced me that you were my most special one; but clearly, I just had never been your cup of tea.
I walked away.
Since then, my love story about you has been completely finished, sooner than I thought;
Since the day I forgave you and myself, I have become a happier man.