The weight of days, or their absence, is also the reason. I do not know.
I, seemingly carefree, glide delicately and gracefully along the edges of the roads, not for any particular destination, but to revel in the rain showers, often brushing against the fluttering wings of butterflies. Meanwhile, the tender embrace of the surrounding trees envelops me with a sweetness that encircles my very being. This has been my routine since the days of adolescence when life unfurled anew amidst the blossoms of my hometown. I chose not to be indifferent, to turn a blind eye to the world around me. Instead, I resolved to embrace my true self—a person of kindness and strength. Even as I turn my back on you, moving forward with unwavering determination, my heart, though fractured, remains steadfast on a journey far from harm.
Here I am, shaking off the dust of the past, as though burdened with guilt for crimes never committed, as if I've stolen hearts when I've never tasted love. It was merely a fleeting admiration, lost to the oblivion of time, disappearing like my forgotten Facebook account from my last year of middle school, before departing from my hometown. I recall nothing but your eyes—eyes that no longer hold the same warmth. Now they brim with resentment as if I've wronged you in some unfathomable way, though neither you nor I truly understand the depths of our connection.
Had you asked me once, you wouldn't cast upon me that disdainful gaze, as though I were a criminal in your eyes, shrouded in your shame.
In the midst of the bustling crowd, time seemed to stand still, suspended between the gazes of two individuals, each separated by an invisible chasm. A young woman, cloaked in radiance, her hair dancing in the wind, locked eyes with a figure in the distance—a man whose intense glare seemed to convey a message of hatred, casting a shadow over her fragile form. Yet, despite the animosity burning in his eyes, he stood resolute, his towering presence a testament to his strength.
For the young woman, there was a flicker of recognition mingled with confusion. Where had she seen him before? And why did his gaze radiate such contempt? It was as if the world had paused to witness their silent exchange—a moment frozen in time, steeped in memories that only he seemed to hold. She smiled tentatively, but her gesture met with a scowl, prompting him to advance, on the verge of confrontation, only to watch helplessly as she was whisked away by a friend, vanishing into the crowd.
He stood there, consumed by a tempest of emotions, his anger seething beneath the surface. And then, just like that, the world resumed its frenetic pace, as if their encounter had never happened—or perhaps, as if it were merely the prologue to a story yet untold.
For love to flourish, misunderstandings must be laid to rest. Otherwise, it withers away, suffocated by the weight of unspoken words and unresolved emotions.
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