The traveler walked unknown roads seeking a destination, only to find the journey incomplete. Love gave him purpose but turned the world against him. A man who could crush mountains was undone by the soft petals of careless love — the irony of strength defeated by tenderness.
Love arrived uninvited and consumed everything — the world, the taverns, time itself lost meaning. Even when apart, the beloved lives safe inside the heart. Yet the final warning: don't fall in love, for it is life's most beautiful mistake.
Neither the beloved comes, nor does death grant relief. Only her memory visits — uninvited, relentless. Sleepless nights filled only with her dreams. The lover has resigned to meeting the beloved only in thoughts, behind closed eyes — an exile sustained by imagination alone.
Physical wounds cause pain — but her absence makes the heart weep. The poet once believed love was reserved for lovers alone. Today he realizes: every human carries a heart, and every heart is vulnerable. Love is not exclusive — it is the universal wound.
The heart never allowed sobriety — intoxicated by the beloved's eyes, by wine, by love's madness. The poet now understands: hearts exist to be broken. But the intoxication of love never let the heart accept this truth. A cycle of beautiful self-destruction.
Who says wine kills? It is medicine for the broken heart — it erases the beloved's image. Yet the contradiction: the poet dies every morning and evening, and despite everything, still loves the same person. Wine numbs, but love persists — the only disease that outlives its cure.
The heart promises every day: "I won't remember her." Then immediately breaks that promise. In distress, in tears, in every prayer — it calls only her name. The beautiful paradox of love: forgetting and remembering are the same act. The heart cannot help itself.