A great deal of importance has been imparted on the mythical "first love": that joy of youth, sometimes unfulfilled but always brimming with endless promise and potential, never quite ripe but always tempting a taste. And indeed, when old age strikes or another failed relationship ends, it always brings a sad smile to one's eyes upon recalling the memory of youth's folly. A pain and tenderness quite unmatched in intensity and feeling.
But what of its less reputed sister, "last love"? That which you leave behind lying shriveled on some unremarked hospital bed, that that you part with for a little bit of eternity on your way to the battlefield or the anonymity surrounding what you thought was just another one night stand.
In the end, those you leave behind may be just as important as those lost memories of that spring day, even here, at winter's gate.
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