An Unfinished Story

You and I, we have a story that remains unfinished.

Back then, I believed that none of it was true. You were the truth. When the whole world said you were wrong, I believed you were right. You convinced me. Yet when I asked you to tell the world that you were right, you went silent—and then disappeared.

That was when I was shattered and felt betrayed.
You had lied to me, and you had betrayed my trust.
You even left me alone in a world that judged me.

Time has passed.
We meet again.
I still smile at you.
And you smile back at me.
Without awkwardness, without hesitation.
But deep inside, I keep my guard up.
We chat as if on top of a graveyard of our buried past.
You hope that by burying the truth, peace will grow again—like before.
But my brother, what you plant is what you shall reap.

That afternoon, we sat in a circle.
When they began to strip you bare
with tales from the past that were not yet over,
I, too, wanted to hear the truth.
I wanted to know what really happened.
But when I saw your fleeting glance, as if begging for mercy,
I couldn’t do anything but protect you—
wrapping you in the memories of our childhood I had long woven.

Then they said,
“What are you doing?
If you keep your mouth shut, soon we’ll see him cornered!”
At that moment, I froze and realized that I was wrong.
“How could I watch him be exposed like that?
He is the childhood I once wanted to protect.
I don’t need the truth anymore.”

You and I, we have a story that remains unfinished.
What I fear most when we start talking about it again
is not that the story will end—
but that we will.

You and I, we have a story that remains unfinished.
And perhaps… not every story needs an ending.
I would rather leave this one unfinished
if it means we could be as we once were—
because our relationship is more important than the unfinished story.