That year we were still so innocent, walking hand in hand through the bustling crowd. I held your hand tightly, as if afraid you’d be swallowed by the crowd. On our hands, fresh from stealing a taste of ice cream, a sticky residue of cream lingered, gluing our hands firmly together. You walked ahead of me, your short hair dancing strand by strand at the back of your head. In that vast sea of people, there were only the two of us, two young children. Today I came back to that same road, and there is nothing left but the crowd. Tears slide down, scattering in every direction in the air after the rain.

I am a beggar, a tiny, ridiculously stirring beggar. I have lost the girl I loved most.