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I went back home and packed up her
belongings.
I looked at the house where she had lived
like a walking corpse.
Looking at the traces of her life,
my eyes turned red in an instant.
I was packing her things absentmindedly, but I froze when I opened the bedside table.
There was a small diary inside, with a slightly yellowed cover.
I trembled and carefully took it out.
The handwriting on the first few pages of the diary was obviously a bit childish.
It seemed like she wrote it when she was a child.
She wrote, [I was scolded by my mom
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today, but Matt told me a joke to make me happy. I really like him.]
Every time I turned a page, the end of the diary wrote, [Today is another day of liking Matt.]
Tears kept falling and dropping on the page.
My heart panicked, and I carefully wiped away the tears
and continue reading.
Flipping to the end, the handwriting became noticeably more mature,
as if it was written recently.
She wrote, [Liking him is so tiring. I don’t
want to like him anymore.]
Vanessa, you were really something.
You hid your feelings so well.
I laughed and cried, my fingertips caressing the words she wrote,
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as if I could feel her pain when she wrote
this sentence.
My heart felt like it was being tightly
gripped, hurting so much that I couldn’t breathe.
Seeing it till the end.
But she changed it again. She wrote, [Forget it. I take back that sentence. I still like him today.]
[But what is love after all?]
I loved you more than I could say.
I loved you too, Vanessa.
Despair and regret gradually enveloped
me,
making it hard for me to breathe.
I couldn’t help but cry, feeling like I was about to collapse.
