They may not be your love. Not now, maybe soon. Not ever, or in the past. They may not be your love, but they look like love and and everything that comes with it. Like hope when you think you will never burn for someone again, when you feel that only shrinking like an unused sponge in a six person flat is left.
You will burn for more than a desire to be understood. They look like love and they will come along and you will forget how you look, and they will forget how you look, and all they will look like is love. And when you get to Facebook stalking like all the lonely girls you see they look good even with their old love, and you know that you don’t want them to be yours, the important thing is that you have seen them again, what a privilege it is to see love a third time.
It’s the feeling of someone seeing the good in you when you can’t, laughing at the words that came out wrong, staying up later to talk properly, asking if you are okay as you walk away in silence. The point is not falling in love just because you found them again, the point is that it hasn’t disappeared, it is still following you. Like death, love is still inevitable.