Love is inherently illusory.
We always think that the person we love is the best, we think that we are the happiest, we think that we are the most painful, we think that our love is the greatest, and we think that our story is the most touching.
It turns out that we are all immersed in the illusion of love.
On the road of love, both you and I have lost our way and ourselves.
That night, I hid in the corner and cried.
I looked at the walls around me, and there was your image on the walls, smiling at me.
I looked down at the ground and counted with my fingers. No more, no less, exactly five ants.
Maybe, you miss me too.
I remember you once asked me, "Does happiness have a sound?"
If happiness really has a voice, have you heard it?
I've heard it before.
That was a long, long time ago. . .
Conception: