Know You in the Mist

Thursday, rain. My memory sales shop is spread deep in the old alley. The neon light tube on the signboard is broken, and only half of the word "Memory" is left, "B", flickering like a breath in the rainy night. The wind chime didn't ring when he pushed the door open - it never rang for him. "Same as before." He handed over a memory coin that glowed coldly, with raindrops on his fingertips. "The tears of first love are the most painful ones." I took the coin, my palms slightly cold. On the counter, ninety-nine glass bottles stood quietly, each with a drop of tears locked in it, and each drop came from the eyes of a different woman. Until tonight, in the newly retrieved memory, I saw myself at the age of twenty.