Six hundred days of one-way love (Song Zhiyi's monologue)
I like Wenyuchuan, six hundred and fifty-seven days
This is not an unknown secret love. From the beginning, he knew I liked him.
I didn't hide it carefully. Everyone could see my preference, my initiative, and my approach again and again, including him.
I know the answer better than anyone.
I know that he treats me politely, gently, and always keeps his distance. I know that he will respond to my messages, help me, and be gentle to me, but he will not like me.
For more than six hundred days, I have been deceiving myself.
I thought that perseverance could lead to exceptions, that I could be sincere enough to suppress my dislike. I convinced myself again and again to wait. Maybe one day, he would look back at me standing where I was.
I have seen him at his most gentle, and received all his courteous kindness.
But those tenderness are never preferences.
Friends around me all advised me to give up, saying that if they didn't like it, they just didn't like it, and it would be useless no matter how long it took. I understood it with my mouth, but I couldn't bear it in my heart. Six hundred days of love is too heavy, so heavy that I can't bear to let go easily.
Finally, I mustered up the courage to confess.
There is no fanfare, no imaginary answers.
He is gentle and cruel. He declined me politely, with a very light tone and a firm attitude. He said I was good but not suitable and that I deserved someone better.
I have heard this polite tenderness too many times.
At that moment, I suddenly became completely clear: He had always known my feelings, but he had never chosen me from beginning to end.
My more than six hundred days were not a miss, but a clear decision not to be chosen.
It turns out that I kind of like it, but there is no ending from the beginning.
I endured more than six hundred days and nights of heartbeat, expectation, suffering and self-movation, but in the end I only received a gentle rejection.
This long journey with only me finally came to an end with his euphemistic apology.
Intention: Cupid was too weak and only shot through my heart