Aşk duygusu beni alıp götürüyor ,mutlu ediyor. Ama aynı zamanda da yakıyor, bana acı veriyor, tüm imkansız aşkların acı verdiği gibi.
Çünkü bu imkansızlığın keskin bir biçimde bilincindeyim.
I don’t know that youth doesn’t last, that it’s only a moment, and then it disappears and by the time you finally realize it, it’s too late. It’s finished, vanished, lost.
But the deceased did not grant them the grace of such a letter. He left without relieving them of their bad conscience. Did he want to punish them? Or did he simply hold on to this fundamental truth: that in the end, death is only a matter between you and yourself?
This is important: he sees me in a certain way, a way he will never deviate from. In the end, love was only possible because he saw me not as who I was, but as the person I would become.