I had fallen in love with him when I was seventeen. I was stupid, but somehow very brave, which is probably why I didn't dare to tell him how I felt right away. He didn't reciprocate, but he didn't let me go anywhere. So we have been living for the last five years - at a distance of two cities, mutual acquaintances and very rare, but really long-awaited meetings. Falling in love has long grown into love, stupidity has been replaced by sober calculation and the realization that another person can not be screwed to yourself, no matter how hard you try with
https://datehookup.dating/apps/hookup-mongolia/. Of course, we have a special case - we are in love with each other, unable either to leave or to stay, and I believe only in the fact that time will judge us one day. Though when memory brings up the recollections of our meetings, "leaving" seems like the most futile decision of all.The last of them happened last week. It was late evening, thirty-degree frost and me watching him from somewhere below with my mouth open. When he comes in, he first asks how I'm doing, nods sympathetically if I complain, smiles broadly if I talk about big victories, and invariably seeks my gaze, as if he's afraid I'll lie. We leisurely follow the same route, the end point of which is bound to be a coffee shop near my house - it's the only one that's open twenty-four hours a day. There's no one inside, just the waitress, a little tired but very friendly. He orders me a cappuccino, wants to feed me - I argue. He takes himself a tea with ginger, which later will make him squint and spit childishly. He's funny. He says,