Love ends on a Sunday, in a lost corner at the time of a rainy day, forgotten in memory of those who thought they loved desperately and love was only eternal source of life. Love ends up in the arms that insomnia just wants to embrace, mouths that no longer want to kiss, where there is only solitude. Love ends.

What ending are some of our expectations and desires, which are replaced by others throughout of our life. We do not change in essence, but we change a lot of our dreams, change our views and needs, especially needs. Love tends to be shaped to our lack of emotional involvement, but this need is not static, it changes as we have new experiences, as we learn from the pain, remorse and with all our mistakes. Love remains the same only to those who know to keep it.

Often, love watches its own death. Sometimes it screams for help, but we keep still, inert. There are people who insist simply because they do not want to admit that it ended. But life does not end when a love dies. It simply has a change which, like all, is oftentimes painful. We resist the change because we are afraid the unknown.

Love only comes out of the center of our attention. The time develops our defenses, it offers us other possibilities and we advance because it is human nature to advance. There is the feeling that runs out, we who were exhausted from suffering, exhausted or expected, either depleted of sameness. Passion ends, love does not. Love is what makes us to occupy all our spaces while it welcomes, and we transferred it to bottom into the closet when it no longer works, but never it definitively casts out from home — it remains dormant waiting for a new season that makes it to revive and blossom into a new morning of peace… ♥