She has always believed in love, but she just didn't believe it would last that long.
Until I met him.
During those years when she secretly read romance novels, he was like a thread, pulling out every emotion of the characters in the book; and like a needle, he was like a needle, sewing all the emotions on the thread deeply into her hands, shoulders, and heart.
He pushed her into a novel, into the world with pink bubbles, but he walked into another novel. She and he were parallel lines, never intersecting.
Every time in the dead of night, she grabbed the "thread" on her body and tried to pull it out, but she always felt heartbroken. But she finally pulled it out ruthlessly, and the "wounds" all over her body were dripping with blood. She breathed a sigh of relief, thinking everything would be over.
But when I met him again, those "scars" on his body were unexpectedly aching. She suddenly understood that she had only pulled off the "thread", but not the love in her heart.
She has always believed in love, and she has begun to believe that love will last forever.
"I never thought I would love you for so many years," she said.