I am Nian Zhao. Nian is the thought of missing, Zhao is the Zhao of Zhaoran.
This book is my notebook.
No fiction, no embellishment, no filters for anyone.
Some people are like light, they shine and then go away.
Some people are like the wind, they will be remembered once they have existed.
Some people are like thorns that get stuck in and can never be pulled out.
Some people are like shadows, always there but never belonging to anyone.
I record this not because I cannot forget anyone, but because I want to remember that I once loved like this.
That's enough.
Give this book to yourself.
Also to all you who have loved, are loving, and haven't loved yet.
May you have loved clearly.
May you buy yourself flowers and heal yourself.
Intention: The meaning of love does not lie in the results, but in every moment of sincere delivery. Recording those who have come and left is not to miss anyone, but to remember the self who loved me seriously. Between loving and being loved, letting down and being let down, she finally grew into a complete person.