Sunshine, bicycles, sneakers.
I still remember the afternoon sun falling on your brows, slowly flickering downwards.
You hold the ball and run easily. On the spacious runway of the campus, you let the wind blow your school shirt, leaving behind a young and frivolous figure.
A sixteen-year-old boy, so proud. Just like the sixteen-year-old me at this time, I follow your steps and secretly treasure every little sand you step on.
When I didn't meet you, I was a humble girl. But after meeting you, I can be strong enough for you.
Finely trimmed paragraphs:
I'm a slow-burner.
Because of my slowness, when you liked me, you were once angry and suspicious.
Because it is slow, I can only follow your steps carefully for one section and one section.
And because you were slow, you didn't say a word when you left.
When you got used to my slowness and finally picked up the pace, I was still following behind you.
You don't need to blame me, and I don't need to blame myself.
Because I have become accustomed to waiting for you seriously.
Intention: Maybe you never know that all my entanglements and anger are not because I hate you, but because I like you too much and care too much, so I can't let go.