Being moved by oneself is also a rare luxury. Whenever I read it, I always feel a kind of sadness in my heart, as if everything in the past is happening again. I am still that sentimental little girl, pursuing something that I dream of but can never catch up with, so persistent and helpless.
In tonight's dream, he will no longer be there. He can only come to mind in those boring days when I look through past poetry collections. The pure love of my youth may never reappear in this life. Should I cry? Crying about my first love that I can never get back; should I remember it? Remember the past that I can never forget. I am just the most insignificant mortal in the world. I can never transcend the love, hatred and hatred in this world. I am always reminded that you are not a chrysalis and can never transform into a butterfly.
Conception: