The man’s stubbornness and bad temper, like a sudden downpour, soaked the light in your eyes. The empty room was filled with only the echo of your departure and my endless regret. I’d lost the most important thing—your smile. I remembered the gift I’d secretly prepared for you—a custom, hand-hammered glass painting. I urged the craftsman to speed up. The craftsman, while working, pointed to the natural hammer marks and said, “Look, these cracks are the glass’s breath, its life.”
My heart was struck. Isn’t our love like this? The traces left by our arguments and frictions are also part of our shared history. I love the whole you, including all the bumps between us. I stood before you, holding this “broken” yet complete gift. The moment you opened the box, you were stunned. Under the light, your smile in the glass remained as gentle as ever, and the crisscrossing hammer marks illuminated the painting like a star, imbuing it with a profound beauty. Love isn’t about being without cracks, but rather that even after the cracks, love remains as strong as ever, or even more brilliant.