Part of a story, perhaps

Here is a small bit of a small paragraph I wrote, I can't even remember when, but a long time ago. Having just found it, I'm thinking it may one day, turn into a story.... perhaps.

"He always made her fall more in love with him. Without saying he loved her at all. The closest thing was when he said she was perfect and she should never change. That was the last time they saw each other, right before he left Paris for Valencia. She guessed the main reason was that it was too painful to say it out loud, especially to each other. How can you love someone who happens to be in another hemisphere? (As though it was a random throw of dice, landing where we did). Well, you can love someone so far away. You can tell yourself, but no one else. Because when you start telling people it’s love, it’s real. When you start telling the person you’re in love with, it’s a gamble."