I'm talking about a girl your age, fifteen or sixteen, who will say goodbye to her lover. The whistle blared, and the ship slowly left the embankment. Her face was like a lake, and her heart began to cry. She saw the black car on the shore, and she knew that there were a pair of eyes looking at her in the back of the car. She was still in the position she had seen him for the first time, leaning against the railing and resting one foot on it.
The embankment got farther and farther away, until there was nothing to see but the sea. When she heard the familiar waltz on the boat, she finally burst into tears. The music reminded her of the man on the bank, her lover. Suddenly, she knew that she loved him deeply, a love she never admitted. like quicksand.
Years later, when she went through every step of her life and became old, she also published a novel. She received his call, her voice restrained and trembling. He said he didn't know what to say, and then said, as before, he still loved her, and his love for her never stopped.
It doesn't seem like it's exciting and unimpressive, does it? Maybe because we can't experience it for that long. But I am familiar with her feelings; the kind of face that is like a lake, but the heart is crying. As she said, sometimes it is inexplicably sentimental. No one notices, like the passing wind, and will not be pitied. That kind of emptiness and hunger, the hunger of the heart, after all the hard work, is what resonates with me. That's all.
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