When I just graduated, I always thought that one day we would meet again. Maybe it's in a crowded street, holding your hand while she passes by as if no one else is around; maybe it's in a dimly lit cafe, chatting and laughing with her without looking away; maybe it's a slim figure standing next to you on the vast blue sea. Later, day after day, year after year, such thoughts gradually faded away. So, I occasionally opened the yellowed diary, and memories came flooding back, and I suddenly sighed that we would never meet again.
All fantasies are just romantic plots. You hate crowded places, you don't like coffee, you are afraid of the sea... Everything seems to indicate: the fate between you and me has long been exhausted. But why did we meet him after all?