My voice is weak and my heart is breaking, or is it already broken? I still can't see the difference, or that's what I want to believe.
“I trusted her. I gave her everything. And still, she left.”
I feel like dying, but all the old man does is smile, and with his charming, deep voice, he whispers something I will never, never forget.
“And that's the risk we take. It's not her fault, child. That's life, that's love. They call it falling in love because sometimes you're caught, and sometimes you're not.”
My eyes widen as his smile grows. I start to look away, start to give up, but the old man takes my hand, and forces me to look at him. He is wise, and he knows. I can see it in his eyes – he knows what it feels to be rejected, to suffer, to be hurt. He knows life is hard, and difficult, and some people die before finishing it, but some people survive. And just looking at his eyes, I see everything and nothing, and I can feel his emptiness, and also mine.
“You're confusing me.” I whisper. I may look young, but I'm not a fool. I may look innocent, but I'm as sinner as the devil. I may look handsome, but I'm not easy at all. I may look, but not be.
“And so did her.” He replies. And oh, his eyes are shining, and I don't know what to say, don't know what to do, because she killed me, but if she did, then why do I feel so alive everytime the thought of her hurts me? Pain makes me feel alive.
"You're wrong." I say, and the old man arches an eyebrow. But he is still listening. "She still does."