My Love in My Youth (15)

She began demanding I change my appearance — said I was rustic. It was costly, but I complied.

We dressed brightly, went out together. Yet each night she still sent me back to my room.

She spoke in metaphors: broken mirrors, overstretched rubber bands. Loss teaches value. Damage cannot be undone.

We spoke cautiously. I understood men who chase women — the pain is trivial compared to the scars women bear.

She told a story of a woman who left a man for wealth, returned too late.

She wished for a candlelit dinner that Christmas Eve.

I told her I would wait.

“Wait five years,” she said jokingly, “then I won’t want you.”

I was willing.

(16)

She cooked one weekend — rarely. A friend came over. The food was simple and warm. At the market she had been the center of attention. Beauty intimidates. I felt unworthy.

Some nights she came home late. I worried. I texted: Falling in love with someone who doesn’t come home.

She replied: Country bumpkin.

Then the door opened. She cried. I sat by her bed nightly. She fell asleep mid-conversation.

One night I kissed her cheek. She didn’t protest. The next night again.

One day, she didn’t resist.

I thought I had reached the finish line.

I was wrong.

(17)

She asked for marriage. Calculated expenses — house, car, ceremony.

Reality struck.

Her friend hinted: Marry her quickly.

Arguments escalated. From care to shouting. From love to violence. From dreams to disillusion.

Only then did I understand: education, family, finances, personality — love cannot override these.

Luckily, we weren’t married.

(18)

Once again, I walked the road of searching for chance encounters.

Youth faded. So did reckless love.

I remained lost.

-The end-