After eating a bowl of glutinous glutinous rice dumplings, watching a movie with an ending, and deleting all contact information of a person, I squatted in a small cubicle in the bathroom of the cinema and burst into tears. Although my eyes were blurred by tears, I could still clearly see the face of a certain genius who often appeared in a certain satellite TV variety show laughing at me on the advertisement in the bathroom stall of the theater. A woman exclaimed from the cubicle next to her: Oh my God, the bathroom door in this theater is so perverted. I laughed out loud all of a sudden, yes, it was a bit perverted. Even more perverted than my 9-year crush. As I think about it, I don't seem to want to cry so much anymore.
Reminds me of the lyrics in a song by Jacky Friends, love is a misunderstanding, pain is a kind of cultivation... It doesn't seem that uncomfortable anymore.
Seeing him again was both expected and unexpected. What was expected was that I would talk to him like a normal person, but what was unexpected was that I discovered that I still love him. It's still him who's thrown away, and it's still me who can't get rid of him. In this web of love and hatred that I've weaved, I seem to be unable to break free...