I was 15, she was 21. We talked about marriage, we said:

'Maybe we can only go to the Netherlands.'

Is it the Netherlands or the Neverland?

I am 21, she is 27. I look a bit older, the baby fat is reduced, and the pair of eyes filled with some stories. She looks the same, after a while she stopped to grow up, except that she is married. We talked about marriage again, she said:

'It's like my single life, we met every weekend and tidy up the new apartment, and then we went back to our own places.'

'You will need to move together with him, eventually.'

'Hmmm, scary...'

25 was the year she dramatically changed and stopped changing. First time in two years we met. No baggy jeans, no afros, she looked really proper, with a flowery summer dress, no less sexy than ever, just the wildness refined. She said:

'I will get married. It's like a es muss sein, es Muss sein.'

At the time she had a handful of boyfriends, but never enough love.

Marriage is, for me, my old lovers marry someone else, I think they are someone good, and my life is lightened with the reducing of those unforgotten loves when the responsibilities gone to someone else's hand.

We became real friends, without worrying about love. She asked me:

'Will you wait till I get old to come back to see me again?'

I said no:

'You will never grow old. People I loved never grow old. We will have a grrly punk band, dream a little dream together, just like the old times.'