When I saw this old yellowed letter with a faint fragrance, I realized that I had missed you. I was 19 years late for your love...
Where should we begin to talk about these things? I am now standing on the bookcase in my hometown cleaning out old things. The confession letter sandwiched in the history textbook of the third grade of junior high school makes me feel a little painful and sad. Why doesn't this idiot just give it to me? Doesn't he know that I won't read the books after graduating from the third grade of junior high school? I slowly sat down in a crumbling old wooden house, a room that couldn't even close the door tightly, and lit a cigarette to relieve the pain in my heart...
Intention: Sir, monitor, I miss you