I lost her even before I found her. Everything about her said she wasn’t mine. Her stubbornness and persistence made me constantly fight with myself, trying to please her. Is that bad? Is it right? Losing her meant losing myself. I thought no one could compare to her—no one would be able to fill my empty vessel. A heart shattered into millions of shards… But I’m still stubbornly learning to live again, making timid steps like a baby. Not toward her—because her happiness is obvious.