Pale Green Eyeshadow

I don’t know whether there are still stories left in this world, or how much of a “story” there is in any single real event. When you encounter a love story tangled up with death, are your tears really for the tragic beauty of the love, or for the sorrow and weight of the death? Their love was pure, without a trace of impurity, so important and so perfect in each other’s memories — is first love still like that today? I wonder whether what’s in the story is really love — the pale green eyeshadow, the single earring, the flowing long hair — and whether any of it was real.