I have been looking for a perfect time, a perfect mood, and even my perfect state to write something about that perfect him. For this reason, I put it off again and again. I told myself that my hair was not done, it was not the hour, and there were too many things going on today that I could not relax enough. It dragged on for several years, until I got to know him again, to the point where I felt that I would never be perfect again, to the point where I thought he had never been perfect, so today, at this moment. At this moment, I was tying up my long hair that had not been washed for three days due to the epidemic, drinking milk that had expired the next day and juice that had expired for one day, lying on my not-so-warm bed, with a vengeful desire to write down everything that was going wrong. It was the first day of July in 2013, the first day when the fifteen-year-old Zero met the sixteen-year-old Zhou Zhou.
Purpose: Telling stories