There Is Always Something Left to Love

Eduard Baranovski
How beautiful he is. Since our first meeting, I've been captivated by his eyes, black as a moonless night, and his lively smile. Together we wandered the mountains, splashed naked in glacial lakes, and embraced during cold nights spent in a tent. I wish time could stand still, so I could be with him forever, reliving those wonderful moments just gazing at each other in silence. But that's impossible. I fill the grave where I've placed him and walk away through the trees. In the clearing, I get a notification: Marius sent you a message on Tinder.
 
 Pompilian Tofilescu
She cried for him, for she had loved him. She cursed him too, since she had begged him not to go. She didn't need money, but a human body to warm her. She received, in a box, what remained of him after the accident. She organized an expensive funeral and an impressive memorial feast. And now this stranger, who had come after everyone else had left, stared at her silently. What do you want? she snapped at him. There's no food or drink left; you've arrived too late. But is there any love left? The firm flesh of the young widow trembled beneath her mourning clothes. There always is.
 
 Victoria Gîrlan Grigore
Ana fell on the pedestrian crossing. Cars drove by her, people looked away. Only an old woman wearing a worn coat bent over her. Does it hurt a lot? Ana nodded, and the woman squeezed her hand. Everything hurts me too, but I'm still walking. She called the ambulance, then left without another word. They put Ana's hand in a cast. The shock and pain had numbed her memory, and she didn't say thank you. Ana never learned her name, but she understood: even when you're down on the ground, there will always be someone in the world who can love without asking for anything in return.

 
(Translated by Ioana Levîrdă / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year I / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)