Paranoid Loyal Dog *Gentle Little Sun
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In my sophomore year of high school, a beautiful classmate sat next to me. She doesn't like to talk. During class, she likes to hold up her slender arms and occasionally turn her head to look at the clouds and rain outside the window.
She sat obediently and upright, burying her head in a furry scarf. The smell of tobacco that I smelled coming from her body seemed to be an illusion of the senses.
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She threw away the love letters on my desk, wiped my tears tenderly, held up a transparent umbrella for me on rainy days, and imitated the bloody plots on TV and said clumsy love words.
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After meeting her for many years, she became a popular and popular writer, and I became somewhat famous in my own industry. I felt that I was respectable enough. She came towards me, gentle and polite.
Half an hour later, she lowered her head, her eyes were moist like a stray puppy, and bit me on the shoulder. The atmosphere was just like what she wrote in her debut novel when she was twenty-one: "Desire is a moist kerosene lamp."
I kept that book under my pillow, and now at the age of twenty-seven, I picked up the next sentence: "The wind has not moved, but it has set my soul on fire.
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From the vague love at the age of seventeen to the ambiguous pull at the age of twenty-seven. I saw her again and took her home, as if I had taken in a stray puppy.
Purpose: Socialist sisterhood
