It was not love, it was a disease

Maybe she recognized him, but pretended that she was no longer there, that all those memories and experiences had turned her into someone he would never know again. The last flame of love, lit a year ago, full of hope, continued to toss her life left and right, straight ahead, until suddenly it fell inexorably to the ground and said, “Enough, this will never happen again.” Your chosen one will never happen. It is a walking illusion of hatred towards yourself and others. The fire went out forever, the flames died down, and she never spoke to her again.

She passed through this cloud of thoughts as if nothing had happened, as if crossing a bridge over a rushing river in severe frost.

Her body ached a little, and her thoughts were completely clear.

All that information gave birth to a new way of perceiving things and experiences truly worthy of her loving energy, and everything that had been soaked in the flame of soulless, heartless love disappeared into the void, creating distance from her real, more interesting world.

This was the last journey of her thoughts, to a place where nothing more could happen.

Maybe she wanted to be free for herself this time.

With all her strength, she took a breath and blew out the entire flame, and it faded from every thought in her mind, in her body.

No cell had ever been so pure, so luminous, so transparent, and so healthy; it was not love, it was a disease