The Thirst for Reassurance

The room is full of people. Stories live in their eyes—stories wrapped in a strange intoxication! Some tell of drowning, others of surfacing. These are stories of relationships, yet I still haven't learned to understand relationships, not even a little. I still can't trust anyone. All my life, I've casually avoided people who want to "form relationships" the same way I ignore gastric pain. Have I really been avoiding them, or have I simply never encountered that person yet?

That girl in the corner with bright brown eyes, stroking the monstera leaves while telling her friend about her person—I still haven't found anyone I could talk about like that! I have a few acquaintances to chat with, but who would I tell the story to? I don't have my own person! And...and that boy standing on the balcony, who told his person to wait, that he's about to leave to return to them...where is someone to tell me stories of coming home?

The thirst for reassurance is such a profound thirst! I only know how to count the hours until I must leave! Otherwise, I too would plan year-end trips to some village nestled in the hills. I too would wait with lemon water in hand for my person's return, then when they came home, we'd eat rice together with morel curry. As they fed me a morsel of rice, perhaps they'd say, "Did the lemon leaves make the curry taste better, or was there just a little extra love today?" I'd hide my shy smile and joyfully serve two more pieces of fish onto their plate.

I've noticed that today in this circle of friends, everyone is talking about their own person. It's like a serious meeting is underway, where everyone's participation is mandatory, and this meeting has one predetermined, unspoken agenda: 'Relationships and Related People.' In brackets, it's further noted: 'Please note, relationships here refer to one's beloved.' Strange—instead of relationships, couldn't the topic have been love?


I haven't loved any less than others. I just couldn't wait, because I knew they would never come. They weren't supposed to come, either. If nothing else, they know how to keep their word. That's why I still haven't been able to make anyone truly mine. They weren't meant to return to me; they made me promise that when it comes to love, I would understand only them. I understand—whether I understand love or not, I don't know, but I understand only them.

It seems whoever selected this meeting's topic is terribly racist, or else why would someone...! Should I file a case? Is there any law against this? What section would it fall under? Something around 420? Wait, why did thinking of Section 420 remind me of God? Could it be that He's the one who chose this topic? Or has He deceived me? Maybe so—otherwise why would my lemon water lose its tang and turn toxic, why would the fish curry go sour too, yet still no one tells stories of coming home? This wasn't supposed to happen.
But which court would I file this case in?