Li Xiaoyu never believed in love, and the interpretation of love in her dictionary was just one word "poison".
But Li Xiaoyu was an infatuated woman. For the sake of love, she stayed where he lived, learned to wash clothes and make soup for him, and learned to cling to him like a little bird in his arms. Even though it was not a good match to lean on, even though she rarely washed his clothes or cooked for him, he still made Xiaoyu feel like he was swimming in the vast sea, and finally let his heart wander to the bottom.
Maybe life is an endless conflict, belief and disbelief, love and hate, everything is just a thought.
As long as they don't quarrel, Xiaoyu is deeply attached to him. When she closes her eyes and can touch him sleeping next to her, she will always lean on him quietly. There was a faint smell of sweat on his body, and there was always a smell of happiness surrounding the house.
Xiaoyu still hates love, deeply hates it. ． ． ． ． ．
Maybe there is no so-called love, and Xiaoyu at least thinks that he doesn't have to live like a monster for it. She didn't dare to look in the mirror because she really couldn't stand the disheveled and nervous version of herself in the mirror. When he was away, this crazy woman would suddenly wake up in the middle of the night to smoke and surf the Internet, and cry while hugging the quilt in the middle of the night. But who would have thought that this woman would smile like a proud queen in the crowd during the day.