You could paint 1,000 portraits of lovely faces, or write the stories of 1,000 heroes, or sing songs of 1,000 different lovers, or plant 1,000 trees and flowers, or make 1,000 dollars a day, or make 1,000 friends from 1,000 different places; but none of them would love you back. Perhaps the friends would, but not in the same way that I do. None of them could hold you at night keeping you warm and kiss you in the morning the way I do. None of them could give up everything in their life, including their life itself, just to see you smile, and even if they could, none of them would; but I would. I would die if I could do so while looking into your hazel eyes.