Some things must be written, even in the freezing cold of winter, even if my hands are so frozen that I can only tap the keyboard mechanically, even if it is not beautiful, artistic or touching enough, but whenever something shakes my heart, I will have such an idea, tell me, write it down.
These things are like the dust secretly covered up with a broom in the corner of the classroom every time a leader comes to inspect. They are invisible and denied, but their existence itself is not wrong. It is just dust and will be swept away one day, so I have to write. When it disappeared without a trace, even the slightest trace of its existence disappeared, I could still interpret these jerky and childish words by myself, and smile lightly at my absurd thoughts at that time. Time flies by, and when I am mature enough to be able to write down those days called youth in an understatement, there is still something like this that allows me to slowly savor it, and even if I am laughed at, I will not regret it. In fact, youth is absurd.
There are too many in small cities like the one I live in, and maybe it differs from region to region. But what I want to tell is my own story, and I won't care about whether others can relate to it. Let's call this city X city. This is the letter I liked when I was very young. When written in cursive, it looks like a butterfly spreading its wings, two arms linked together, or two half hearts back to back.