This summer, in Tehran, I found an old letter from a university friend. As I read the letter, I felt that the writer really liked me, or maybe even loved me. It was a sad realization of the moments passing by without us appreciating their true contents.
I used to be secretly in love with many people (since when I was a teenager, until late twenties when I got married). But I never even considered the possibility that someone else liked me .... or at least I do not remember now, and I guess I am romanticizing and exaggerating a bit too :)))