Memories didn’t return to me like a film reel,they came back like a deafening roar. I can still feel the vibration running through the airplane’s body as it cut through the sky, dragging me away from distant Saigon and pulling me toward this place: London. The sole purpose of this trip wasn’t to satisfy some childish admiration, nor was it to meet him. I came here to prove that the love I sent out had truly reached him.The moment I landed, the city wasn’t the cold Blue I had imagined. Instead, it was overflowing with a blinding Golden Light too intense, too dazzling. It was the color of Fin Corben, the person I only dared to call my Yallow Heart. 

Then began the madness: fifteen days, fifteen different bouquets. I wandered through narrow streets, stepping into every small, cozy flower shop I found. I had no idea what kind of flowers Fin liked. I simply chose by instinct, guided by bright colors: Radiant Yellow, Fiery Red, Deep Purple, Fresh Green. Each bouquet was a desperate attempt to say: “I was here, for you.” It was the only way I could carve my presence into his city. 

My legs grew exhausted. The London sky shifted from warm Gold to the deep Purple of lonely nights. I stopped before closed doors and cold windows. Fin Corben was somewhere in this city, somewhere close, yet I could never reach him. I stood there, under the solitary glow of streetlights, clutching a bouquet of Sunflowers so tightly that petals fell off. All my efforts were pointless. My pride dissolved, leaving only the raw truth of longing. After a hopeless day, I slipped into a small bar hidden behind a street corner. The warm Amber lights and soft jazz wrapped the place in a tender, unfamiliar romance. Hoping to reclaim some piece of myself amid this loneliness, I ordered a dark Blue cocktail- the color of isolation and frozen reason. 

Holding the cold glass, I stared into the lights. Everything inside the bar, its floors, its walls, even the faces passing by was drenched in that endless, shimmering Gold. This place, just like the entire city, wouldn’t stop screaming about his brilliance and fame. And in the middle of that Orange-Yallow chaos, it was just me, my Dark Blue drink, and a single wish that throbbed with loneliness: 

“I WISH YOU WERE HERE.”