This

It was me there. It was not a different version of me, I don't come in different flavours. It was me that you saw, maybe you have changed the angle but you saw what was already there, I have not changed.
There I was, overtaken by my feelings, knowing there was nothing I could do about it. You can't control what comes naturally if it is all that you are and can see at that moment. Not even if you know it will hurt you, not even if the cause of it will eventually go way and the people who will come out harmed are the ones that stay, not if you love all of these people unequally - you can subside love but do you do the same to a passion that consumes you?

Some have come and gone, some have stayed and changed and I stand immutable, like a rock watching the passing of time. Like the rock that people see in whichever way they want, according to the meaning, fears, hopes and wishes they deposit on it.
But I'm just me, and inside thit rock that's made of the most fragile glass is a hourglass, with two very different sides, one made of red and gold, the side of the passion that does not subside, the passion that tells its object that the right words will never come when in truth that is an utter lie, the passion that lingers no matter how many miles and months are in the middle. The passion that should have never been.
The other side, the rest of time, a shadow of the opposite's vivacity, the gloom of emptiness, the remains of the good that was, the broken hope for what will never be, the dream that lost its spirit, the one who didn't see the time passing by and people leaving and changing and leaving her behind lost in the leftovers of the reality that is now only real for her.

No one told her that life was to be ever so hard nor that she had to choose.

She still has this. Herself.