I didn't cry when I left the farm.
Not when I packed the last of my things into that rusted truck. Not when the trees disappeared in the mirror. Not even when I drove past the graves.
But the moment I stepped into Bangkok — when the noise hit me like heat and my mother pulled me into her arms — something cracked. Quietly. Somewhere deep.
I didn't cry.
But I wanted to. Desperately.
My mother didn't ask questions.
She just ran her fingers over the stubble on my scalp and said,
"You'll grow it back. It'll suit you."
I think she meant more than the hair.
Now, I work nights at a bar down the street. Nothing fancy. I wipe tables. I pour drinks. I smile at strangers. And during the day, I play games with the neighbor's kids.
Sometimes I walk home alone, headphones in, pretending I'm just another Bangkok guy.
Like I didn't lift my whole life and move to a place for love —
A place that I loved.
A place that didn't love me back.
A place that hurt me and left me with scars, visible and invisible.
And at night, when the lights go out, and the city is less noisy, and it's just me and the fan creaking overhead —
I start thinking about you.
And all the things that could've been.
What if you hadn't gone out in the rain that night?
What if you hadn't fallen from that tree?
What if you'd stayed in my arms just a little longer?
An hour longer?
What if I'd been close enough to catch you?
To save you from the fall?
What if we could've married?
Had you waited just a little longer — a year and a half more — we could've gotten the rights to be wedded legally.
But you didn't wait.
And I couldn't save you.
And she didn't save you.
But it's all over now.
I have moved on.
Or so I tell myself every day
When a thought of you crosses my mind.
When I see the place we first met.
When I think of all the plans we made.
The things that could've been.
Lying here now, in my small bed, in a big city, I can't help but feel regret.
Regret that I followed you there, regret that I fell in love regret that I met you, regret that I lost you, regret that I met him and regret that I lost him too.
I regret it. But I will move on.
I have moved on.