The Micro Love

We had never talked again about it all that night. This was neither our choice nor fate. Is that all? About me? About you? About all our days and nights? We were next to the window. Looking to some cars passing through the street miles away, watching the different style shoes and steps walking further… I am the wrong one for you.” So am I!” Loving is not everything, we need much more than feelings. I tried to tell him slowly, he told me his story slowly, we lived really slowly that night… Listening to the same song, one of us was thinking about the first time that we had listened to it years ago, and one of us was thinking this song was the last one we were together but lonely… Wooden small houses, miniature blue spring flowers kept in a book, handwriting private love notes penned with sometimes hurt sometimes farness, tin post boxes rusted, life hurt companion, with all faithfulness and soul…. I am talentless to live with you, I am quick-tempered in seconds, I am in the bedroom, packing my all life – One shirt, one pair of jeans… The lover realised exactly what I was telling about the last story… We were both next to the door of our wooden house. One of us stayed home, one of us was out…