Life in Ink

With my left hand, I read my story; with my right, I become its casualty. The beautiful stories exist only in my imagination. The stories of real life, whether you love them or not, are shaped by every step you take, and every step determines where you will end up. You saw me at countless moments of weakness and shame, yet in the end, all I could do was sob as countless paper dragonflies fell, choosing to say goodbye to you in the rearview mirror. You embodied the happiness I longed for most in my life, but you were always beyond my reach. That rainstorm ended Grandpa's life, and put an end to all the efforts you had quietly made for me.