On the day he said goodbye to me, it had been over half a year since we last saw each other. From 2019 until the day we broke up, almost four years had passed, and I had always wanted to know who he truly was. He was like the drifting wind, the majestic mountains, the untamable beast, the hollow abyss of the night—he was everything.

When he broke up with me, all of the memories flashed before me, I finally understood that he was a tumor growing inside my body. He and I had already become one, and I could not simply cut him out; I could only watch as he consumed my energy every day, growing larger until he became another version of myself. I feared him and could not fully understand him. He was like an impeccably clear mirror. He would stare at me with his sadness, his weakness, his emptiness and his ignorance. It seemed he was devouring me and then spitting out a new version. I had no control, and could only stand in the same place and observe.

When he left, he said, "How helpless, to have a living person standing in front of you but no longer feel anything for them."

I remained silent. It is helpless, I agreed, and I have felt that way countless times since.