Do people ever wonder what happens to a swan when its mate dies?

  Does it fall in love, over and over and over, until it finally bobs its neck the final time?

  If so, does something as elegant and innocent as a swan truly deserve this form of specialized torture?

  As the curtains draw from the broke love scene, what happens to the spirit of love?

  Where does it come, where does it go?

  The question is never answered as more and more fall into the deep slumber of depression.

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  Then it must die.

  Death will swing its scythe without a second thought, snapping its elegantly grotesque neck in two.

  It is such a pity that one has to live in the others place.

  Why must they die one by one and not altogether?

  It just seems so meaningless to others, almost like I'm not talking sense.

  Where does the spirit of love retreat to?

  Where does it come, where does it go?

  People think it's just a silly thought, yet they try over and over again.

  Why can't a swan, the animal embodiment of true love and devotion, do the same?

  Why must it die with its mate, shortly after?

  Why must beautiful things wither?

  Why must every good thing come to an end?

  Is time really the enemy of love?

  Then,

  Love just seems like a tragedy.