Hide her with a diary.
…
I looked at her, from the first sight, to every time.
Her thin back as she passed by her, the mole on her neck hidden behind her hair, and the section of cyan hidden in her cuffs.
From the curvature of the eyebrows, half of the face buried under the scarf, to the unclean heat on the glass.
She may not have noticed, or she may have understood everything from my avoidance in the premeditated glances.
…
Early Mae.
After chatting, I pieced together that she was a cold person.
Cold.
It is reflected in appearance, but it is repellent in temperament.
She spends a lot of time because of her indifference.
Two years, as in the plural four seasons.
My dedicated eyes capture her silhouettes in all four seasons.
My silent eyes kissed the traces of youth on her face.
My sad eyes trapped her in empty pupils.
Occasionally, he had the courage to sit next to her, lowered his head to hide his restraint, and asked her: "Zhao Mei. Does it mean anything?"
He noticed that his voice was trembling and wanted to stop himself from losing his composure.
Zaomei was too considerate and patiently and slowly replied to me: "The so-called beauty is in the water."
Yiren is Zaomei.
My sweetheart is acting in a silent film that is only hers.
I'm trying my best to be a good director.
My love is hidden among the astringent cores.
Concept: Silent film.
