Someone said, Unfulfilled Love is Romantic

 They never met again.


But like a grateful romantic he always remembered her. He did not know what became of her, but even in that briefest moment they had met and loved he had known an eternity, he had known of her struggles, he had known the mystery of her sad eyes. 

She was like those hilly trees you know, tall, strong, holding on to whatever ground there was, panting in that thin air, never giving up, so exotic and beautiful.

And maybe that’s why even after all those years, he would confide in the mountains, where he could vividly remember her, where he could embrace in her beauty, in her struggles, like an invisible comrade,
 where every green hill would bear a token of her love.