I had a very heavy dream this morning. When I woke up suddenly, I found that there were several messages on my phone. The phone's glare caused me to rub my eyes. I found out that it was sent by a friend of several years, and she said:
"Can you write down my story? I want to keep it as a souvenir."
"Did you dream about him again?" I asked.
"Yeah." She replied.
This is the origin of this story, without thinking too much, just like the countless mornings when I was in school, passing by the breakfast shop next to the school, and buying pancakes and porridge without thinking.
What I want to write about is probably the youth of most of us. There are no car accidents, amnesia, or life-or-death love. Just having a secret love is already exhausting.