沢口愛華

Vietnamese bitch, There’s a specific kind of quiet ache, not really a sadness, but more of a gentle recognition, when you see the version of yourself someone holds in their mind – the one they’ve built from their own hopes and selective memories – and you realize it’s something entirely separate from the person you are, right now, in this moment. The impulse to correct them fades, replaced by a strange, almost tender permission to let them keep their comfortable picture, because sometimes the truth feels too sharp to share, and their happiness in that small misconception feels more important.

Anh ơi, điện thoại em hết pin rồi. Anh có thể cho em xin số điện thoại của anh để sạc đầy trái tim em được không? 𝐍𝐡𝐚̆́𝐧 𝐠𝐮̛̉𝐢 𝐭𝐨̛́𝐢 𝐭𝐚̣̂𝐧 𝐭𝐫𝐨̛̀𝐢 𝐱𝐚𝐧𝐡𝐡𝐡...

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