When I was eight years old, I met an eighteen-year-old boy. He was very beautiful. He took me home. I called him uncle, but he was not old. It was just that I heard other children's mothers say that men older than you should be called uncle to be liked by others. So I was obedient, even though he was young, but he was not. Instead of being angry, he smiled and held my hand and walked toward the light. From then on, I became a happy child among ordinary people... I am eighteen years old and I like my uncle very much. I confessed to him and he agreed, but I don't know why they all agreed with me and finally left. Now I started to hate him...
Concept: Love does not have many detours, but the detours are their most loyal love for each other.