God thought light was beautiful and said, "Let there be light." So there was light in the world.
I think you are beautiful, but I have never dared to say: "I like you."
Timid, cowardly me, how can I get a little attention that is insignificant to you; how can I become brave, smart, beautiful, loved by everyone, and flowers bloom?
Thoughts are like a mess of cotton wool. After the complexity, only a crystal clear and tough thread remains. It kept saying to me: "Tell him you like him."
Tell you, I like you.
Is it really possible?
This is the secret of a seventeen-year-old girl's secret love.