That summer was extremely long, and it looked like a school uniform shirt that never dried. The orange soda we shared on the rooftop contained an unspoken confession hidden in the bubbles. It disappeared with the bubbles and remained unspeakable. Now that school uniform is still hanging in the closet, your pen writing remains on the cuffs, and the wind on the rooftop still carries the sweet smell of orange soda. The incandescent lamp in the morgue illuminated your eyelashes transparently. Only then did I realize that death, like secret love, is a one-man show that ends in a hurry without even having time to say goodbye.
Intention: Unexpressed love becomes a regret for eternal farewell.