One evening I asked you if you’d still have feelings for me even when I changed someday. I also asked you how things were going to be like if you met someone else. I asked you what you were going to do while you waited for me; with an arrogant faith that I was really going somewhere and that you agreed to wait. I asked you if I had flaws that you didn’t like. I asked you everything I was curious about.

I know it was unfair to ask such difficult questions to someone young, and I know that I was, really, an asshole for asking these things to you out of curiosity; just because I knew you really liked me and just because I wanted to see your confused face. I was an asshole, really, just for testing you whether you were cheesy or not. If your answers were flowery and cheesy, I was planning to dislike you, detach myself from you, and maybe all my butterflies would faint one by one. I’ve never liked cheesy.

Yet you just sat there, shook your head, and continued eating. Instead of implying that I had no flaws, you said you hadn’t found them yet; and to everything else that I asked; you just said you didn’t know.

Then I laughed with a sigh of relief that you were more honest than I had thought.