When I was 13 years old, I liked someone.
Too bad I'm a coward.
I want to lie to myself that I don't like you, I say it over and over again, and let my roommate tell me that I really don't like you anymore
I'm so tired and don't want to love anymore.
Later, I could no longer find your photo and unpinned it.
We're here to stay.
Let me put the final touch on this endless story.
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Mild abuse, short stories, caution, first-person perspective
Just read it as an essay
Intention: To commemorate my non-existent love