Dark Eyes

Now, Siddharta was in love. A love that runneth deeper than I had seen ever. All he felt was heat and flame, and all he saw were dark eyes, like the man sang. Let's not digress.
If it were required of him, he would've forsaken his world for her, but it never came to pass. His love remained unrequited, and not for want of trying. And unrequited it was, not because she didn't understand Siddharta's feelings for her, she knew them all too well, they were good friends, and probably remain so. Her explanations made no sense to me, I'm biased toward him, they sound like rubbish. Siddharta is an enlightened soul, still I had seen him to moved to the point of silent tears many a sad evening, and why? "It's not worth it", I tried telling him, and then realized how hollow it sounded in the face of his misery.
Four years down the road, Siddharta is a busy man, I haven't seen him in a long time. But Siddharta is still in love, I know it. He doesn't want to accept it. She's a fool. It's her loss. His world built around her at one point, now I wonder if I should rejoice or be sad if he comes to believe that it was not meant to be. Let it be, Siddharta, let it be.