The man who saw love

He lost count of days, months... For him life was an eternity, and all around just an endless forgettable landscape. He didn't hate, didn't understand what cruelty is, living in himself and not thinking about what was alien to his fragile heart.
No one knew who he was and why his face was always bright and serene. But his thoughts were far away from prying eyes.

He saw the love, the living image of her, slightly perceptible, hazy, this is different and cool as a summer breeze. People thought that their sense dwells in the heart, only occasionally appearing, looking at the sun. But he knew that the love of their life was near, Yes, near, followed them, putting his hand on their warm, warmed by her hands.

And he, occasionally looking up at passers-by, lost in thought, smiled at the splendor of ghostly silhouettes floating around them. He too was in love... But this love was Platonic, impossible - no, not unrequited but doomed to never purchase a physical meaning, image, material but is not so sublime, and of the earth. He was in love with his love...