He doesn't mind that her beauty has withered or her beguiling fragrance will no more entice him. It doesn't bother him that he can't ever savour her love nectar anymore. All he hopes for is to be loved by her again. Expecting to perfuse life into his love, he comes and kisses her everyday, unaware that all throughout his life from now, she'll just remain the stump of a dried flower. If not this, then what is true love?
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