There is a specific amount of love that a person has. Love is constantly taking things out of the pocket of the heart, until there is not much left in the bag.

What was in that bag was the unprecedented passion generated by the first conversation, the first heartbeat, the first kiss, the first naked embrace.

The longer you are single, the less you want to fall in love, because some people are born to be solitary animals. They do not need constant companionship to obtain uninterrupted warmth, and they do not have the patience to explain their personal hobbies and life details over and over again.

What he hoped to gain from a relationship was already given.

He had conversations, had feelings, loved and hated, and was happy.

After the fireworks were all gone, he didn't want to repeat the fleeting brilliance. He just wanted to move a wicker chair and wait quietly in the courtyard that still smelled of sulfur.