A story about love

- You can tell only one story, the man said, holding a gun to my head. - What is it going to be?
I wasn't afraid of the gun. He could shoot me or let me live - it was all the same. I had done all I was sent here to do, I had accomplished my mission a long time ago. What was left was something I saw as a vacation.
- It is a story about love, I said, and was quite sure of what I was doing. Stories about love always touched people. Even those who'd never loved - because they hungered so badly for it.

- Is it about lost love or found love? the man asked. He was pressing the gun even harder against my head now. I could feel my skin stretch under it.
- It's about both, I said. - It's about a found love that I lost.
- But why? Who wants to hear about lost love? The man looked perplexed. - Why don't you only tell about the love you found, why don't you leave out the losing part. Didn't you lose a part of yourself losing that love?
I could suddenly hear a gentle tone in the man's voice. He had lost love as well, I gathered. Maybe that was why he now was pressing a gun to someone's head. I wasn't to take it personal. It could probably have been anyone in my place.
- Yes, I said. - I lost a big part of myself when losing that love. For a long time I felt like half the human being I used to be, like I'd been punished for something.

I gazed at the man for a second. The wrinkles around his eyes were deep. He wasn't that old, I thought. Those wrinkles were there because of the pain he'd felt, not because of all of the rays of sun and wind he'd walked through in life.
- But I also gained something from losing that love, I continued, still watching his wrinkles move like waves on an ocean. - I gained the experience of the universe. I gained the feelings of every single human being on this planet. I could, for a few moments in time, feel all human experiences flow through me. They left a mark in every cell of my body, in every single hair attached to the skin.
I felt the gun lift from my head, the touch of it disappeared for a short second, then it was placed there again.
- And now? Do you still feel it?
I shook my head. - No, I don't. That is not a feeling that will stay for a long time. It will just pass through. It is more of a reminder of that it's all a part of something bigger. I don't feel it anymore, but at the same time, I will never again be the same as I was before I felt it.
I watched the man. I could see in his eyes he didn't want to kill me anymore. He might do it anyway, but he probably couldn't really grasp the thought of why he was gonna kill me anymore.

- Can I give you something? I asked. - I'd like you to read a book I have in my bag. Can I pick it up?
Again the wrinkles started twitching, jumping up and down. The man got nervous. - Where is it? I'll take it.
- It's here in my bag. You'll find it. I tilted my head towards the bag.
I saw the man stretch out his hand inside my bag. He grabbed the book and pulled it out. He looked at it.
- Paulo Coelho, he said. - I've heard about him.
- Yes, you probably have, I said. - That book is one of my favorites, it's called "Like the flowing river". I want you to have that book and read it. Inside you will find all those feelings I told you about. You will feel you are worth them as well.
- Are you sure? The man looked at me, with doubt in his eyes. - Yes, I promised and felt the gun be pulled away from my head. - Read it, you'll see.