While packing up the belongings of my old house, I found the love letters I hadn't sent out in high school.
I thought this secret love was only for me from beginning to end.
It wasn't until he saw the back of the letter that he received a reply that was more than ten years late.
The peripheral vision after I was divided into classes, the touch I borrowed from my notes, and my secret gaze during evening self-study were all not my fault.
We are all waiting for each other to take the first step, waiting for time to pass by, and waiting for half a lifetime to pass by.
Later I realized that the most painful thing in the world is called almost.
