Cordelia smiled in a way that would have been wistful if it was not so obviously intertwined with some kind of regret and sorrow that she could not even place at the moment. And then, she went silent for what seemed like a long while, though it was only about a minute.
"But they were both children, like the poem said. Even if there love was deeper than the love of those older than them, as the years move on, so will he. Yes, for the first year or so he visits every day and lays upon the surface of her tomb, but then, he starts visiting every other day. Then, only on weekends. Then perhaps, he will skip a week all together. Then, two weeks. Then, a months. Then several months. Then, he will maybe only return on her birthday. Even that will wear off as time goes on. Eventually, she will just become some story he will tell to evoke sympathy from some other girl. All the meanwhile, she is still there in her tomb, waiting for him. That is just how men love, you see. Women are only of use to them so long as they are present."
She had broken eye contact with him as she said that. But then, she suddenly looked back up at him, seeming almost hopeful, her grey eyes shining brightly.
"That's not right at all, is it? Goodness, it amazes me how thinking and analyzing answers everything except for matters of love! He would not have dedicated so much heart in even writing the poem that preaches about this mutual immortal love, if he did not truly love her and only her, despite how death somehow got in the way for a while."