I don't understand myself either. My so-called lack of love makes me throw myself into the arms of countless people and enjoy my ability to be among the flowers without touching myself. I love the loneliness and affection I pretend to be after drinking, and I love the sense of accomplishment every time someone says they love me. Even though I don't believe in the so-called true love, I urgently need to be loved, and I need the false love in this world. But no one can feed me. I am wandering in the bustling city, looking for the next target of love...
Then Southeast appeared, and the world in my eyes changed. I may love her very much, love her freedom, love the melancholy in her expression, and love everything she brings to me. Her specialness made me crazy and secretly fascinated, and I couldn't take my eyes away from the cigarette she gently twirled on my fingertips in the early morning. I understand that everything is me adding drama to my life where I cannot feel love. Do I really love her? I don't know, and I don't know myself.
This novel and its characters are purely fictitious. Any similarity is purely coincidental and should not be imitated.
