In eleven years, I could have had more memories with you than with him, which were sweetness, not helplessness with him.
In eleven years, I could have devoted everything to give you the happiness you wanted. It was complete, not fragments with him.
Eleven years could have allowed us to love each other, hold hands across the fleeting years, and write down the years together.
Eleven years could have allowed us to cuddle up with each other, look at each other with tenderness, and share deep affection with each other.
After thousands of sails passed, he protected her to the other side and left happily and freely.