"Oh!" Valentine Teller responded faintly, the pain in her heart not alleviating one bit, but rather intensifying.
Is it true that love is recognized only when you can't meet?
Doesn't longing push a person's feelings to the peak even more?
Love is love, not loving is not loving; whether or not they meet is just an excuse.
She raised her head to look at him, and he looked back at her.
On her expressionless face, Mark Reed saw only detachment.
It seemed that whether he loved her or not had nothing to do with her.
He didn't like her standing aloof like this; at this moment, he even wished she was angry, as it would at least show she cared for him, but now, he couldn't see any emotion from her, as ethereal as a puppet, her soul seemingly long gone.
Mark's heart tightened, he held her tightly, as if releasing her would mean losing her.
"Valentine, I love you."
He wanted to ignite her passion, make her as fervent as he was, and let her know how much he loved her.
