I often think of one night a long time ago, standing on my bed, tiptoeing, and sticking my head into Yao Yun's mosquito net.
I couldn't see Yao Yun's face at that time, but I could vaguely feel the girl's breathing. The roar of the air conditioner, the scent of shower gel on the girl's body, the obscure and deep days and nights.
I want to number those nights one by one and write them into a letter about falsehood, truth, the past and myself.
Those letters were sealed in a drawer and sent to another person due to an accident.
"The obscurity of youth does not lie in the lack of answers between love and hate, but in the disillusionment of love and the hesitation and indecision of hate."
I give my false love to the past and my true desires and self to you, X. I finally wrote a weird story that seemed curious.
First person dual perspective, the sentence in the copy was written by myself.
Intention: Grow from fantasy, understand yourself, and don't look back
