When writing this book, I asked myself the meaning of writing this book and what would be the consequences of writing this book. I don't know or want to call this book literature. Although I have long been determined to create literature, my enthusiasm has now faded. Maybe I can only aspire to success, because it seems that only success makes life meaningful, but I found that this is extremely wrong. I have been reading psychology books and videos over the years, and I have made rapid progress compared to before. On the one hand, the exposure of my subconscious self allows me to analyze my original motivations very well. On the other hand, I also want to thank the lady, the heroine of this book. I thought for a long time and decided to write in the first person, which is my best, like Mauriac. But I thought I would reveal more and let the words come to me like a storm. Besides, I always feel that documentary can't be called art or literature, but now I want to write literature about documentary, about ants crawling along the cracks in the trees. Frankly speaking, the motivation for writing this book was definitely not to become famous. Even if this book has no readers and is unknown, at most it will only prove that I have no literary talent. I don't want to prove my deep love, but it's just because of heartache, blood pounding my temples, and cramps. Although I felt this way when I first fell in love, it's coming back now. I deleted all her contact information, blocked her and then pulled her back again, so I can no longer find any trace of her.
Intention: repent