Love is but a state of being that bounds us to one another. That's what a woman once thought while loving her husband. Their love was mutual and they complemented each other even in the simplest of daily routines. In their little bubble the world seemed beautiful, whereas the real world was dark and fearful of the unknown... For the black veil of war holding in its folds the tumors of death is upon the nation.
Here she is at the train station; here she is in the darkness of all darkness where everything that was good in the world came to its end. Here she is, in all her glory of love, hugging her husband embracing him as if there was no tomorrow for deep in her soul, she knew that her love will never be the same again and that the moments that she had long cherished are now the joy of her life and the filling for the vast emptiness in her soul. 
Days, months and years passed by, and the faithful wife awaited the return of her husband. She waited, knowing that he might never come back; knowing that he might never be the same; knowing that time might have changed her into a different woman. A woman her husband might never love as much as he loved the pre-war figure that he drew of her. In this tumult of confusion, she craved for the moment present and condemned the future that is coming for in her soul, and in this moment, she is still the woman that her husband cherished and he is still on his way, for the meeting that is to come. Nothing has changed and her love for him is silently preserved…
Suddenly I realized that life is never the same and all what we have been through is never to come again. Neither the laugh nor the beautiful childhood joy that embraced us, the crazy beauty nor the wild nights we spent reaching for a clear moment of truth, reaching for the impossible. However our soul holds in it, the mystery of a greater universe; a universe of parallel past present and the latent future… while embracing this beautiful reality and greatness of the human soul, melancholy surrounds my existence for it lingers in the streets, the parks, the rose, and the childhood love bench were the ideals embraced realism and the senses illuminated the night with its glittering spark.
Happiness sadness sorrow and exaltation are but an amalgamation of feelings that our soul embraces its beauty even in its darkest sadness and that acknowledges its transience even in the happiest of moments.
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