I am a writer who often weaves perfect love. Friends always like to ask me when they have relationship disputes. I was happy to answer them all.
Later, I also fell in love, and then I realized that I actually didn't understand love.
Later, I stopped writing about love, but I still fought hard for the love that belonged to me.
Until I was bruised and bruised, that love never paid attention to me.
One day I started having a recurring dream.
I dreamed that someone was talking to me.
He was asking me questions, and I answered them when he asked them.
Where are you from?
I come from far away.
What's the purpose of coming here?
To go back to a distant place?
Who are you?