They always ask me, why don't you confess your love to him if you really love him? Yes, I often ask myself why. Maybe it was because when we shared an umbrella and went home, he gave it to the girl he liked and then asked me to go with him; maybe I saw his excitement when he secretly peeked at the application form of the girl he liked: maybe it was the way he cared about her when the girl he liked broke the pottery we made together when we were kids. Haven't I confessed my love? Yes, but so what, he laughed off his drunken remarks as a joke, God knows how much courage I used. If it were possible, I would rather not look into his eyes or listen to his words that winter, then I really wouldn't have to fall in love with him. Whether his affection really doesn't belong to me.
Intention: My love for you is indescribable, but your love has nothing to do with me.