At 6:17 in the evening, the tide began to rise.
She sat on the rusty iron railing of the breakwater, her calves dangling in the air, and the skirt of her school uniform was filled with the sea breeze, like a bulging sail. The gray-blue waves in the distance were swallowing up the scattered shells on the beach inch by inch, like some kind of slow but sure plunder - just like the thoughts about him hidden in the title page of her notebook were being swept away by time one by one.
She was never an emotional person, but she still felt sad.
The sound of the tide is dull.
Each rush was like the muffled sound of a basketball hitting the rubber floor, reminding her of today's physical education class, the glistening sweat on the back of his neck when he jumped up to shoot, and the waistline that was instantly exposed when the hem of his jersey lifted up. The seventeen-year-old sea breeze was always mixed with salt grains and sunburned sunlight. She squinted her eyes and watched the tide break into white foam on the rocks, then recede, starting over and over again.
I've wanted to see the sea for a long time, and I saw it
I don't know when someone I've liked for a long time will respond…
Intention: Emotions cannot be decided by people, improving oneself is the only correct solution