Without another hand to hold it, my palms freeze in the waning dusk to the far west that, as it slowly sinks beyond the horizon, surrenders to the indifferent winter night.

The silhouette of ravens chase the setting sun, their cries bitter and drenched in utter mockery. 

I clench my teeth in unfathomable envy. Despite their lack of strength, charm, or refinement, these creatures—unremarkable in every way—have someone by their side.

I glance to my left hoping—desperately, foolishly—that someone might be there. But there’s only empty space, a gulf for the chilling gusts to weep with me. 

“Always let me walk on the inside, remember!”

Your voice echoes in my chest, followed by an insurmountable pain.

How am I supposed to do that when you’re not even by my side?

I tilt my head upward, fighting the tears welling in my eyes.

I miss you… my little princess.

I miss the fragrance of your shampoo. I miss the silky touch of your hands.

I miss the pat on my head that casted away darkness. I miss the glow in your smile that fueled my joy.

I miss the warmth of your body when we cuddled. I miss the hint of citrus on your lips when we kissed.

I miss everything about you, every last piece of you.

I shut my eyes, steadying myself amid the tempest of mixed emotions.

Chills snake up my nostrils as I inhale violently, steadying my breath.

I tilt my head back down as I exhale, but my gaze falls upon a couple walking side by side on the opposite sidewalk. 

The sight of them, their hands intertwined so easily, so effortlessly, snaps something inside me.

Boundless agony swallows me in an instant.

I thought we promised to be together forever.

I had dedicated everything for you.

Remember that clover necklace? It wasn’t just a piece of jewelry; it was the culmination of my 3 months in Seven Eleven, a blossom I cultivated with my sweat and stamina. But you only wore it occasionally, saying you disliked the cold touch against your skin—as if it was just something that barely mattered.

You had an awful temper. I tried to keep a list of the things you dislike, but the list keeps getting longer, harsher. You scrutinized me like something you owned, pointing out every single flaw until I wondered if I should put myself on the list.

Did I really deserve a week-long ghost just because I didn’t give you the first bite of my ice cream? You ordered your own!

Don’t even get me started on my imposter syndrome—I know I’m out of your league since the beginning. Afterall, I was just a toad—a particularly grotesque one—lusting after a swan.

But I tried my best to make myself worthy of you. 

I shredded myself in the gym, sculpting my body to meet your standards. I buried my introversion, forcing myself to talk to your extroverted friends. I squeezed into your endless selfies, smiling over my hatred of being on display.

And yet, after a long day of facade, all I saw was you chatting with another guy, your smile tugging widely on your face.

The same smile that, despite my best effort, never appeared before me; the cheapest yet most priceless solace that you, despite all my sacrifices, refused to bestow upon me.

My parents told me to cut it, and for the first time, I rebelled against them. My friends said you were up to no good, and for the first time, I punched one of them. I put my everything on the line for you, and yet you tell me all of that was worthless because “We’re not right for each other?”

Of course we’re not, no one is! That’s why we have to try, to fight, to love despite our flaws!

I dip my head, letting loose the downpours in my eyes.

Maybe I was never enough for you, and maybe I never will be.

I run forward, hysterically, trying to escape the delight I once enjoyed. My head dips lower and lower, hiding my anguish from the world, my gaze fixed on the pavement. The hustling feet of passing strangers shuffle aside as I charge faster, more relentlessly, down the street.

Chills creep perniciously into my lungs as I breathlessly push forward, feeling the cold seep deeper with each step. A sharp ache spikes up my chest, and my vision blurs slightly from the freezing pain. My head grows dizzy and my limbs grow numb, yet I don’t decelerate; the rawest form of anger sears through me, burning my heart, propelling me headlong into madness.

Yes, yes… It was all YOUR fault.

My fatigue catches up to me, and my steps gradually grow heavy.

I gave you everything, I’m not to blame.

The run falters into a stumble, then to a walk as the uphill slope registers beneath me, dragging every ounce of me toward the ground.

It was you who didn’t keep the promise. 

I halt, steadying my ragged breath.

It was you who gave up.

I look around mindlessly. I am on top of a bridge, the river below me stretching far beyond my sight. The water, dark and silent, flows gently away, unfazed by the weight of my sorrow. The solemn wind bites at my face, its teeth sharp yet sobering. The world from above, without the pressing atmosphere of human presence, gently restores my morality, my conscience, my peace—like a tranquilizer to a frenzied monster.

I chuckle humorlessly at my thoughts that were, just moments ago, entrenched in my mind.

…Who am I fooling?

It was not your fault, it was mine.

I didn’t know to carry your bag, or to hold the door, or all the little things a good boyfriend should know. My compliments always came off awkward, even creepy, from my unpolished self, and I barely had the acuity to notice the subtle changes in your nails or your hairstyle.

Yet you tolerated my clumsiness.

No, you embraced my incompetence. You caressed me as if my imperfection was perfect.

You taught me how to be a gentleman, how to be a boyfriend, how to be someone that deserves to be by your side.

You anointed me with courage and confidence. You adorned me with clairvoyance and sophistication.

Whenever my insecurities plagued me, you fought alongside me calmly, rationally, with the never changing phrase “Don’t worry, I’m here.”

Oh… I loved those words.

You repeated those words like a chant, over and over again. They were mundane in every possible way, but the smile on your face, the tenderness in your eyes, the halo that gleamed behind you, painted you like a perfect goddess in my eyes.

Your reassurances weren’t empty, either. I still remember the time you, although not the slightest bit interested, played Mario Kart with me because you knew it was my favorite. You laughed at every crash, cheered with every win, just because I had a bad day. 

And God, did I enjoy that night. 

Somehow, you turned every small moment into something I cherished.

You crowned the toad and adored it, hugging it like the dearest treasure you owned. You bore it on your back and soared to the skies, showing it the vastness of the world and the beauty hidden in it. 

Yet the toad grew prideful and greedy. It starts taking the beauty of the swan for granted. It grew reluctant to the mundane happiness it once cherished.

And worst of all, it cursed the swan when it finally flew away, claiming that it had done everything.

How ignorant.

How arrogant.

How pathetic.

As I continue my stride mindlessly down the bridge and forward, the monuments of my past, the little moments I didn’t bother to appreciate, replays one after another in my head.

The cafe where I learned your obsession with macaron.

The library where we crammed for calculus.

The park where we seesawed twenty minutes for no reason.

The narrow alley where we had s… where we cuddled intensely.

And finally, I pause in ambivalence at the start of the tale—the magnificent cherry blossom, under which I confessed my feelings to you.

Fond memories flood into my head, drowning me in regret, in anguish, in guilt.

We barely knew each other, yet the glances you threw at people and the mischievous smile that always tugged on your face sunk me deep into obsession.

I bettered myself to appeal to you. I borrowed tips from my single friends, researched pickup lines online, and look-maxed myself. All in hope that even a toad could steal the swan’s heart if the stars align.

In hindsight, none of that should’ve worked, but my naivete, yet unscathed by the concept of love, somehow mustered up the courage to propose.

I remember that day so vividly. My hands trembled in my pockets, my lips dry and shaky as I stood in front of the tree, watching the petals fall around us. You smiled, oblivious of my storm of emotions inside, your eyes bright and carefree, as always. 

The world felt so heavy as I opened my mouth. My heart pounded against my ribcage, pumping blood into my blushing face. I murmur the words as I put forth my hand, unable to meet your gaze.

The jubilant wind filled the moment of silence that lasted an eternity.

And then something soft squeezed my extended hand.

“Yes, of course.” I heard.

The world stilled for a second.

I shyly looked up and saw your smile, wider than any before, tugged like a bleached crescent on your gorgeous face.

I never knew “Life” had a face.

It was at then that I swore to the serenity of this tree that I will protect this smile, no matter what.

And here I am, standing before the barren tree with a broken promise.

Not a hint of its pink blossoms remain; there are only a few leaves, already pale in lifelessness, clinging to the branches, refusing to let go.

But there came another gust of wind. As it gently kisses my face, it rips the feeble leaves from the tree that, although struggling desperately to whirl its way back to its root, ultimately falters before my feet.

I bend down to pick it up, studying it for a moment. Its edges are frayed, the color fading, yet it still holds a silent beauty, one that resembles the beauty of the blossoms, the tree, and life itself.

One that engulfs a form of beauty that transcends time.

The irreversible flow of time that, despite our best efforts to seize the moment, slips steadily, beautifully through our fingers.

“We’re not right for each other.” Her voice once again echoes in my chest, but this time it is softer, gentler.

Perhaps neither of us were wrong. Perhaps we were just two dumb teenagers trying their best to love beautifully. Perhaps we were just two tangent lines: Meant to cross once and never again. 

Perhaps our love is just like the blossoms I swore to: Beautiful once, and forever will be in my memory.

Perhaps the toad never gets to be with the swan; perhaps the toad never turns into a handsome prince. Yet, the skies they soared, the truths they shared, the joy they embraced—all of it was beautiful, a beauty that time will never take.

Perhaps one day, the toad will learn that all of that were, indeed, not meaningless.

I set the leaf free, letting it glide once again to the gentle winter breeze.

Goodbye, my little princess.