I want to write about all sorts of random things,
like sharing authors, books, and stories I love,
like lying in bed while rain falls endlessly outside the window, and the moments when inspiration suddenly strikes,
music, writing exercises on a whim,
and the Jiangnan rain and mist I learn about on a sudden flash of inspiration, following the trend.
Theme: Sacrifice.
The first chapter was written when I was in my senior year of high school at three o'clock in the morning and couldn't sleep. The last paragraph of this chapter is excerpted from "I Love You" written by teacher Yu Xiuhua. I had a crush at the time and happened to like this sentence very much, "Tell you the difference between rice and tares, and tell you the fearful spring of a tares." Because it fits the mood at that time, I have excerpted it from the essay. If there is any offense, I apologize for deletion. I am not an outstanding person. If the rice is blooming everywhere in the spring, each one is fine and full, then I am a weed, a foil, and an inconspicuous tare. Likewise, there are many people in his world who are on par with him or who are more powerful than him and who are on the same wavelength. Naturally, he cannot appreciate my mediocrity. I am a very open-minded person, but I still get palpitations when I think about it now, but I am also waiting. I am waiting for someone who can take the initiative to understand me, appreciate me, tolerate me, praise me, trust me without reservation, and choose me unswervingly. A friend asked me if I didn't like him, and I said I stopped liking him a long time ago. It was only in the late third year of high school that I discovered that what I was thinking about might not be him. It was the sourness of youthful love, the hazy good impression, the sparks from the collision of eyes, and the fragrance coming from the corner of the stairs. That is to say, what I like are just those absurd and beautiful moments and heart-stirring encounters. What I miss is only the unique feeling he conveyed to me. This feeling is incomparable even to him now. So I told myself, looking forward, there will be no green hills anywhere. Then, this article is just a tribute to my youth.