"Are you sincere to me?"
"I only want to be in love for the rest of my life." The person below me avoided answering, but still smiled coquettishly.
He stared at those pair of eyes that were as bright as stars and let out a sigh, with an expression on his face that seemed to be smiling or crying, "Why are you talking about this? I'm really confused. Neither you nor I are sincere."
"There is never sincerity in this world, so why do you care."
He always remembered that conversation. He stood by the stream watching the snowflakes flying until he saw the spring snow melting and the peach blossoms blooming. He was so familiar with it that he could easily see the mocking look in that person's eyes through the things in front of him.
Someone always asked him what he was doing, but he only replied that he was waiting for someone, waiting for someone whose soul did not want to enter his dream.
Year after year, it never stops, until lovesickness becomes sick and passion becomes sick.