If I had known Anne at 13 years old. I might be like her mirroring herself in the glass of a pendulum clock. I will see her as if I saw myself, so kind, so happy for myself.
Now that I have grown taller, I have changed from being lonely to having some friends, and I can calmly blend in with the crowd walking up and down the street. Although I won't stand out, at least I won't be looked down upon.
People always grow up. I have learned more knowledge, both in books and in society. I strive to meet some of the mainstream standards of society, and I try to conform to what most people like. Because I want others to like me, I am afraid that people will hate me, I am afraid that no one will love me, because I am afraid that at that time, I will not love.
I set a certain style for my life, and they all said I fit that style. Clothiers tell us that wearing this dress will give us the glamour they promise. With the convenient world of bright screens, I have become suitable for the world and have a peaceful life. Like everyone, I have a happy reaction to the same thing, and I have been persuaded by successful people to follow their reasons.
I'm also getting smarter and secretly concerned about those things that are good in the eyes of others, everything that can satisfy my vanity, everything...
Decorations, enclosures, human behavior...
That day, I saw Annie, as if I saw myself.
The same, in my heart, the same grotesque enthusiasm.
The heart can hold all the colorful legends, or the sad stories with rain. I don't have any friends, but I can make up an ideal world for myself that only belongs to me.
I saw Annie think of herself.
I laughed. I seemed to be looking at my own naivety and rich imagination. I was happy for the unique, charming, and former me.
I cried, I cried for the sincerity I lost. This sincerity is not for anyone, but for myself.
I grew up, adjusted to society, and lost my lovely Annie herself.
Probably because I don't have red hair, I just have an invisible, red heart and bowels. I suppressed, I hid, until the precious ones that were originally disappeared completely.
Annie, I don't deserve to be as happy as you are. Because I don't have the courage.
I live in a crowd. Behind me is not a large green grass, not a foggy forest. No generous auntie, curious boy about me.
But in the end it's my fault.
I am not brave.
I thought, if I had a friend like you, would I still be that lovely me.
I look at your brave joy. I envy you so much. I love you so much.
Annie, I can't go back to being 13.
Now that I learn from you, it may be unlikely to change anything.
But now that I know you, it's a little bit different than before I didn't know you.
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