The most difficult aspect of moving on is accepting that the other person already did.

It’s just the love for her in my heart that is morphing into this madness and how can I run away from it? Sometimes I want to when I can’t bear it anymore, but where will I go?

Isolation, for him, had become a basic sine qua non for existence and loneliness, his sole companion like a perfectly faithful twin. He was someone for whom even happiness would cry for, mourning the death of his sentiments and murdering the existence of his soul.

Who would have listened to his tales of woe when his love was the flickering lamp over his own decaying tomb?

Love, he told himself, was open to interpretation like any other abstract indulgence but followed the same principles everywhere, irrespective of everything else. One, either won or lost in love, there was no bridge in between, and he decided he had lost, lost to himself, if not to her.

He did not have anything on him except her thoughts, except the good times he had once shared and the bad times he so desperately wanted to forget.