In February of that year, spring came warmly.
It's still cold in the north, but it's just getting warm in the south. The warmth is thin, like a layer of mist that will disperse at any time. Their story is also the same - there was warmth, but it failed to really heat up.
She once received a letter from him. The paper was folded into a small piece, and the writing was like a bird's feather, gently falling on her heart. Friends say he is gentle and his words are touching. She also had a flash of joy, and then sank again - she knew that he just wanted to make her happy, that's all.
But those words still accompanied her through the spring, summer, autumn and winter.
There are many moments like this in my memory: his heart skipped a beat when he looked at her with a smile, his comforting moments of tenderness in the classroom, and the faint palpitations brought about by his words on her birthday, "If she doesn't go, I won't go either." She didn't dare to think about it, for fear that if she thought too much, she wouldn't even be able to be friends.
There is a little bit of courage missing between them. Like February, it's almost the peak of spring.
Later, her friends persuaded her to let it go. She asked herself, should she let him go? She doesn't know either. Maybe he really liked her, even if it was only for a moment; maybe they just met too early and haven't learned to tell the truth yet.
But no matter what, life has to move forward.
It's just that those once became the thorns stuck in the green apple - invisible, but it still hurts when touched.
Intention: A little bit worse
