You don't love me...
Even if you always call me my favorite girl every time you write to me, you still don't love me.
I know you talked to many people, and I just stood there and watched. I watched others love you, watched those people cry, and those people laughed. I never cared whether the person this week was the same as the person last week, because at that time, I always believed that you didn't love them, and your future was only with me. Your actions , your words and deeds have made me confirm this idea again and again. I am so confident that after listening to those girls crying and begging you not to break up, I can smile brightly, take you to watch movies and go shopping, hug you as a matter of course, act coquettishly with you as a matter of course, and enjoy all your blatant love.
I don't know when it started, but our chat page turned into more than a dozen messages from me that you either didn't reply to or just said a few words. All the explanations were reduced to one sentence. We have known each other for eight years, and we have said almost everything that needs to be said. The phone calls that couldn't be answered, and the emotions that I digested alone in the dark. Suddenly, I discovered that the friends on my list are all your friends. You and I have the same interests and hobbies, and I subconsciously exclude the presence of others. Become shocked, that's who I am now.
The unpredictable weather, abnormal secretion of dopamine, my bad mood, and bad timing are all your fault.
I'm giving up on you, slowly but surely.
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I would like to dedicate this book to the time when I loved her, which was a time full of regrets and sadness.
Purpose: Tell the stories around you