He doesn't love me, this is the most helpless thing.
Many times, people are blind, especially when it comes to people they love or hate. This blindness is even more obvious. Even if his reason tells him that this is not the case, he will still stubbornly ignore his reason until he hits his head and bleeds.
This is my youth. When I recall this story, I always feel that no matter how melancholy and helpless the ending is, that period of time was like a section of the boulevard filled with golden sunshine. It was joyful, dark and ambiguous, but when I recall it, the color is always so clear.
I always feel that maybe everyone will meet the person you love, maybe he happens to be in love with you, maybe he will never fall in love with you. However, meeting the wrong person at the right time, or meeting the right person at the wrong time, is youth.
I write this story to commemorate the love that made me smile bitterly and burst into tears at dusk.
Conception: