Third Page of Note Paper

This is also a story written in midsummer. However, there is no lingering chirping of cicadas or branches growing wantonly in the foggy forest. His summer was always accompanied by thunderstorms, deep clouds that could not be seen at a glance, and morning fog in the forest that always blocked the morning sun. The summer that belonged to him was gray and dead, even with a bone-chilling pain, piercing the heart thinly, and it took a long time for the blood that was about to dry up to flow out. The secluded forest is thick with mist, and there is no one to ask about the deep clouds. The stinging pain penetrated deep into the bone marrow, and when he wrote, the tip of his pen seemed to be dripping with thick blood. He waited for many years before a gust of wind, carrying warmth and flowing clouds, broke into his heart. He finally ushered in the real long summer of his 18-year life. [I will teach you how to resist, how to fight back, how to protect yourself, and how to love yourself, but I will not teach you how to love. Love cannot be learned by teaching. You have to take that step yourself. It wasn't until he wrote the third page of note paper that he was finally willing to believe that this piece of flowing clouds that would not bring thunderstorms, although still deep, truly belonged to him. [You are the first cloud that never rains in my life. I love you. The forest mist dispersed in the trembling wind, and the clouds penetrated deep into my heart. The article is a bit sour and slow to heat up, please be careful. Intention: Love the world and love yourself