Whenever I read this sentence, I will think of Carney, the person I first loved. When I was nineteen years old, I spent thirteen years of my life loving him. I love him, his etherealness, his elegance, his chicness, his long hair, his wildness, his purity, his badness, his goodness, everything about him...
I know that on that side of the earth, my shadow cannot appear in his life, and he will never even know that thousands of miles away, there is a woman's eyes and a woman's love, following him for the entire thirteen years of her life, regardless of whether his figure is really reflected in her sight.
He made me love too deeply, but left me too little, he was too stingy, and the bits and pieces he left for me could not even fill up the memories. I could only stand in the wind again and again, imagining that he was still by my side.
He accumulated yellow card suspensions, he refused the national team because of his long hair, and he was sent off by the referee with a red card in the farewell game. Time and time again, he refused to leave his sad look in front of us. The dazed back, the flying blond hair, the breath of wind, these are all my memories of Carney.
Conception: