Far is Fire
Imagine a house with no one in it, four unfurnished walls are meaningless memories. It gains meaning when it is lived in and used with its belongings. The older he gets, the more he has things to talk about. Even if the pillow you put your head on speaks, the tears you shed, their joys, their weights, their sweat, their closeness, their smell, their smell, the seats you sit on, witness many things in common with you, or the carpets you walked on, the blankets you wore on those winter nights you wrapped yourself in, the clothes you wore on the blankets, the glass goblets you clinked together, they remember so much things that no one can feel as they get older they gain so much meaning. It is as precious as the traces of the hands holding the door. I even love the garbage of my house, the pictures on the wall talk, they live with us, with the trees that say, "I am yours" through the window, and the gum geraniums hanging from the balcony with their flowers, the hydrangeas, the red roses on the door, what a lot of meaning. That's why they say that I can never leave a piece of garbage of yours. Human lives with memories. In fact, memories live with us. The more meaningful togetherness, sharing, peace and love, the more commitment and memories we will talk about. A song came to mind. "That's why I can't go from anyone".
I loved him from afar.
Far away is fire, I knew I would fire it.
I missed nothing as much as I missed.
I wanted by my side,
I waited for him in my always trembling dreams...
I merged with it
This heart existed with him.
If he exists, I exist in this world.
Or I'm afraid even of my own shadow.
I can't give up!