Everyone Misunderstands

Today while dusting the cobwebs, I came across my old diary.
Written when I was seventeen. So much passion, so much tenderness, so much faith! I had written about everyone in my life, with such gravity, such reverence, such trust for them all!
With each page I turned, my laughter grew louder and stronger.
Should I abandon the cobweb cleaning and just do this today instead?

Fine, I'll waste a whole day on this, so be it.
What I'm reading makes me laugh anyway, so at least there's no fear of being triggered.
I thought, might as well sit back and read comfortably.
As I moved further into the diary, I saw that on the twenty-eighth of May, I had written: "I love you. I'm a terrible person, I have so many bad habits too; but please stay with me anyway, please!"

Right after reading this, I slammed the diary shut. Something was twisting inside me.
What I had written in that diary six years ago—if I sat down to write today, I would write the exact same words. The fact that I still love her the same way, that I still miss her just like that—there's no chance anymore to let her know.

It's far too late.
When people say that with time everything changes, that I'll forget too, thinking about this makes me laugh.
But wait, why am I crying?
What world have I been living in all this time? Why do people keep misunderstanding me?