A Girl’s Life Needs Only Memories, Yet My Friend Has Only the Future
She is like that. A self-portrait. Passionate in love, wild in her thoughts. She retraces the narrow paths that lead to old memories—the place where, just yesterday, the smoke of shisha curled lazily in the air, where carefree laughter punctuated the trivial conversations of her group of friends, including him. A man, worldly and seasoned, who has tasted both the sweetness and bitterness of life.
To her, he came as a fleeting joy of this earthly world. A goodbye.
In her girlhood, she lived with a towering sense of self. At times, her pride brimmed, knowing she never needed to yearn to "be herself" the way others might.
She met him, traveled with him, embarked on races back to her roots, seated behind him. His aura—a ruggedness, a scent indescribable yet unmistakably masculine. Intense. The days stretched endlessly along the roads they traversed, steeped in boundless emotions. Perhaps it was so. To her, he was the man she had loved since the primordial days of her youth, loved from the time she sat behind him on those winding roads of their country. She had fallen for him.
She is like that. Reflecting to herself. Time has passed—a year, twelve months, twenty-nine days, two days shy of a full year. She hasn’t walked down that narrow alleyway since, always hurrying to its end without ever glancing sideways. Now, she views it anew, from a quiet corner of a little café. Peaceful, strange.
Adolescence. Her thoughts began to shift; she no longer liked sitting idly, chatting with the boys in her class. They seemed awkward, their jokes clumsy and childish. She found herself drifting, her imagination soaring like clouds beyond the open window. Vast. A narrow yet expansive sky. She sat with him at a quiet café, away from prying eyes. Stillness. Listening to a song whose lyrics seemed to evaporate, leaving only melodies brushing her soul. Innocence.
He said there were songs without names that could convey everything. Not the melancholy farewells of Vũ Thành An, but simple, wordless harmonies that carried his unspoken affection for her.
Still, she remained the same. Painting her own portrait. Her heart raced with excitement at his invitation. For so long, she thought her story had already ended. Earnestly. But now, her heart stumbled once more, searching for love’s purity again.
In her intoxicated youth, she flew with him—from dreamy islands to fields of stardust, where imaginary creatures roamed freely in his tales of a carefree life with no tomorrow. That was him: a wanderer, unwilling to be bound. He pointed to a painting—not a structured image, but a wild array of untamed brushstrokes and wandering colors scattered across the room. A thick, snow-white blanket tinged with tiny streaks of crimson. Wildness spilled everywhere.
She stayed the same. Reflecting. Seventy-two minutes of shared meals and conversation. In his words, she caught veiled whispers of love. It felt like a stream coursing briefly through her chest. He sought connection in their conversations, shared moments. Two sides. He spoke about the painting hanging in the café’s corner. Its theme or the artist’s intent escaped him. Strange yet lovable.
Reality struck. They talked about life as it was now. Across the table, a young mother and a life forming within her. He exhaled smoke, trying to craft clouds that drifted beyond the galaxy’s fields, back to the dreamy islands—now vanished. He loved a free-spirited life with no tomorrows.
It was an afternoon where sunlight trickled through a barred iron window, in a season where clouds and sunshine embraced. She didn’t wait for him to speak a second time. She stopped listening after that moment. Once, someone had called it goodbye.
"I beg you to deceive me, so I may believe you love me too."
She told him who she was. That’s who she had always been. Drifting along in daydreams and wandering adventures, even now. Detached. Living in dreams unreal, like paintings born from wild strokes and wandering colors. Escapism.
He sat there, looking at her. Thoughts wandering. Playing the role of a listener, he absorbed everything she said for one evening. A date. She had said goodbye to words she thought she would never encounter again—until he met her by chance, through a mutual friend, confessing his love. Her chest fluttered. She agreed to one night of uncertainty, walking the same old paths of yesterday.
She spoke plainly. She was a single mom now. It sounded grand, modern, like something praised in passing. Naïve and reckless. She laughed bitterly, the taste sour on her tongue.
He sat there, staring at her. Lost in thought, still fulfilling the role of a listener. From long ago, he believed he had moved on—away from makeup and fleeting smiles. His heart stirred again, full of nurturing love. Memories. Returning to the familiar road of yesteryears.
"Thank you for those two words. I must return to my child now."
A girl’s life doesn’t need a past. My sister has only her future ahead. Boundless
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