In the budding stages of their relationship, the girl discovered the boy's diary,
where he had poured out his innermost thoughts:
"In my youth, I had an affinity for all things new—books, toys, friends. However,
as time advanced, my preferences evolved. I came to appreciate the nostalgic scent
of old books over fresh ones. I transformed discarded toys from my basement into
new creations and endeavored to mend the lives of those misguided by unfortunate
events. Making new friends became a rarity, reserved for those emitting a similar
aura. The act of reviving and crafting from unused or broken parts brought me
immense joy. It felt like breathing life into neglected entities that craved purpose.
Fixing people, though messy at times, seemed worthwhile. Repairing replaceable items,
like a broken umbrella, by hand reflected my genuine care for my belongings. To me,
everything possessed a life of its own. Perhaps that's why my possessions stop
working once I pass them on to someone else. I sense life in things,
devoid of consciousness, and believe they too experience love.
However, in matters of human connection, especially romantic involvement, broken
individuals gravitate toward me. I've never been someone's first love, and once
fixed, people tend to leave. Mending a broken heart parallels repairing a cracked
glass vase—it may seem restored, but the fracture remains. Fixing is transient in
this existence, and a pure soul, once cracked, cannot be held together indefinitely.
Is this why I've remained single for five years? People depart, yet inanimate objects
endure. Unlike living beings, things don't betray you. Their value often goes unnoticed
until desperation strikes.
I question whether my attraction to simplicity will hinder my ability to relish life's
extravagances. The few things I genuinely love—my research work, functional code, and
family—have become my pillars. Activities I once enjoyed, like playing computer games,
have lost their allure. If this pattern persists, I may end up alone after losing my
close ones. Finding individuals who share my sentiments and emotional values is rare,
and I cherish those connections. While being poor is one thing, wealth without
meaningful connections feels isolating, as if no one truly understands or cares."
Suddenly, the boy entered and found the girl in tears. He expressed, moved by the
narrative, "Huh? I copied this from some forgotten website."
Concerned, the girl responded, "I was worried about you; I thought it was about you."
The boy chuckled, "Nopes, why would it be me? Just a complete loser soul… lol."
The girl smiled, bid farewell, and on the doorstep lay the meticulously stitched umbrella.