The death of love
I used to think that love was permanent. I used to think that love lasted forever. I used to think that love, once kindled, could never burn out.
Now I know better.
Love must be tended to. Love must be nurtured. Love must be potted and repotted and watered and pruned. Love must not be neglected. Love must have amicable surroundings in which to grow.
Love must sometimes be allowed to die.