I read a chinese love novel a few days ago, during a night shift.

However touched I was, the story was rather absurd to me.

The writer seems to left out a lot of details. Like how they fall in love, why did they felt certain feelings and what were they thinking each time when they decided to leave.

Instead, the writer just merely illustrate how they left and came back to each other everytime.

I recalled, lamenting once to you on how these novels bewildered me. I remembered, too, when you laughed and explicate that I was not matured enough to read in between the lines, and that I was insecured by nature, subconciously only willing to comprehend formulated facts.

Though perplexed, I find myself tearing involuntarily at the end of the story this time, ironically, when the man died.

I dont know what stirred me.

Maybe the words used were too beautiful, in a sad way. Maybe I have become matured, and understood a little after all.

Or maybe, it is just simply because you were not there to listen this time, or ever again.