One person lives oneself as another person's memory.
He remembered things for her that she couldn't remember. He recognized people she didn't know for her. The first day she woke up, he brought a bouquet of yellow tulips. Later it was changed to white, and then to other colors.
The flowers on the windowsill have never been broken.
He said she liked it.
She actually doesn't know what she likes anymore. But every morning when I wake up and see those flowers, I feel like today is probably not that bad. She sometimes thought that if one day she remembered and found out that everything he said was false - then could she blame him?
She probably couldn't blame it.
Because during those days when she had nothing, he gave her half of his days.
Tablecloth, slippers, warmed milk, T-shirts hanging out on the balcony.
These little things add up to make people want to believe more than the identity of a "boyfriend".
