My heart is a pool of turbid, sticky stagnant water, and nothing that falls into it can't make any ripples. The so-called acquaintance, the so-called trust, the so-called familiarity, what a terrible word.
The 100 days of lost souls have long passed. I stayed in the frozen hole for a whole winter, and I froze and hid all my fragility. I know no one will come to warm it up again.
It's funny that when I'm in love with someone I'm writing a letter to her by picking up a crumpled piece of scrap paper from the ground and unfolding it and suddenly starting to write it. Neither the sonnets I'm proud of, nor the Shakespeare style I've been imitating for a long time. I can't even remember what exactly I wrote. When she received it a month later, she said: I'm sorry. I said: it doesn't matter. What a fucking joke!
In a lot of movies, I like those corner characters, such as Morgan in this one, and Alfred in Burning Years, for example. I seem to have the same characteristics as the above people. We never know what women's values are. Their choice judgments are neither based on rational inferences, nor universal values or what everyone agrees with. Their sway is more of a natural risk-taking than judging conclusions based on facts. When we fall in love with a woman, she is everything, but when we are disappointed to despair, rationality and sensibility will merge together, and we will no longer be attached to a little bit, and everything will become meaningless.
The above is nothing more than a mockery of dissatisfaction with the world by a very disgraceful intervenor because of his dark psychology.
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