When you well know that your best days are those you just spent, when no other taste will match those scents you just tried, all you can do is to look back and... and what? Weeping on what has been and never will be again? Shedding bitterness all upon days which could be happy? Poisoning
a love that all in all is everything
you need? And yet, for how much you can try, for how bad you want it, how can you avoid to lose your gaze on the memory's landscapes? How can you make your voice not falter when the gone sentiments touch lightly the back of your neck? And how can you ask that someone would share with you the certainty that she will never be able to give you the same feelings?