It was the home of gentle Kyle.
Who still remembers the last time someone mentioned love in their WeChat, Weibo, Moments, and the entire social world?
We don't remember.
We remember the scumbag, the right match, the soft rice, the North American complaining, the German orthopaedic department, whose name is written in the room book, the new marriage law, the child, the diaper, the wife cheating, the husband refusing to do housework, we remember everything.
Except for the feeling of falling in love with someone.
After leaving that age, love is no longer important.
I think maybe so. Love is a very high-order need. Any high-level and delicate requirements can be easily overturned and crushed by simple and crude low-level requirements.
So much so that we need to watch such youth films to recall, it turned out that falling in love with someone used to mean something to me. Things that we gradually forget as adults are still important but irreparable things. We can no longer pay for someone we like, lie clumsily just to get close to him, hide our feelings, discover our hidden feelings. Everything no longer matters. In the adult world, any communication is an exchange, and any relationship is a contract.
We dare not speak again.
Talking is hateful. No one wants to hear us talk about our confusion, we don't know what we want, and how normal it is - like Troy who doesn't know if he should kiss a boy or a girl. Marc who doesn't know how much he loves flirting.
And there's no one around Gwen, who was trying to help, didn't have Kyle's lighted house either. We can't go to them. They have all married, left, and have their own lives, children and mortgage payments.
We hide our stories and our longing for love. In the middle of the night when I saw such a youth film, I was alone.
View more about Eating Out 2: Sloppy Seconds reviews
