About her.

I know how deeply frustrated I am—it all stems from my despair. She abandoned me. No matter how much I imagine that she might recall me, that she might think of me from time to time, deep down, I know such things will never happen. Even if she does remember me, the kind of longing I hope for does not exist. I know what it feels like to have abandoned someone.

My mother despises my father. I think they both make too much of it. I, too, am good at making too much of things. She still wears that ring while doing everything possible to make me understand how much they loathe each other. I think of that ring. How I wish I were the one to place a ring on her finger.

I would rather all the mistakes that led to our end were mine alone. That way, when I look back on everything, at least I could feel regret—at least I could know that if I had a chance to travel through time and return to the past, I would understand what to do to avoid this bad ending. But she left me, and the only thing I can control now is the decision over this life, which has been reduced to nothing but loving her.

Those strange dreams. Not a day goes by without me dreaming of her. She asks me why I only use the classifier “个” in Chinese. She says she will come to find me, as I am slightly inconvenienced in finding her. She is in my arms, and in the next moment, she is behind me, embracing me. She was the most beautiful thing ever in the white dress, and she loved the flowers for her as always. I don’t wanna be better, I don’t need to be better, she nodded to me, then we hugged each other dearly; and I woke up from them.

My eyebrows grow back between my brow. The scent of my perfume on my clothes fades into nothingness. My heart is once again filled with fear of the world. The so-called wisdom and courage I spent years accumulating prove to be so fragile, so easily shattered.

The spring breeze is like a cool summer night. I am carried back in time, watching the neatly arranged objects before me, feeling a deep sense of helplessness—until the microwave stops running. How I long to dissolve into this spring night, longing for her, on the very same day I was born into this world. Our love was so brief. Her heart was filled with uncertainty. The faint worry in her expression, lingering after moments of happiness, appears before my eyes, turning that night into my eternal exile.