The first time I met him, I was 22 and he was 17.
When he was riding a bicycle and wearing a white shirt and gradually drifted away, the smell of his distant youth made me nostalgic, as if I had returned to the best years.
The reality of society makes me exhausted. He is in the age when it is most natural to dream. For me, life is like running on a knife's edge. Being too ideal or too realistic is more terrifying than being on a knife's edge.
I don't know what kind of feeling it is, maybe it's out of nostalgia for youth, and he defines it as love.