We met for the first time in March of a certain year. I sat in the mountains while he went hunting in the valley. Another year I returned to the same mountain. The splendor of the vegetation was no longer there, and the people were no longer there.
I don't know how many lives or years have passed. The joy and sadness at that time have dried up, leaving only increasingly blurred past events. The only clear thing in my memory is that March with endless longing.
Intention: pure love