“So what if I never love someone that hard again?”
“But that’s the thing about love, isn’t it?”
He paused, and looked at the mirror.
“You will let them get away with murder, even if it’s your own.”
“And the worst part is, she might not even know what she has done to you.”
He pointed at the mirror.
“–Died, along with your heart.”
“And now, your words are following you to your grave.”
He eyed himself on the mirror, and took a quick glance at bottles of wine and stacks of books in his desk beside the him. He grabbed the wine bottle, took a wine glass beside it, took one book titled Faust by Goethe, and sat on the floor, right in front of the mirror.
He looked at the mirror, and whispered, slowly,
“Your heart died. Perished. Finished.”
“You should have done something better.
“Think about it. What if you will never love someone that hard again?”
He put his head between his knees, closed his eyes, and whispered to himself,
“What if I will never love someone that hard again?”