The heroine in the story of secret love will never fall in love with the country. She always lowered her eyebrows and pleasing her eyes, smiling gently and cautiously, and always had a friendly panic in her expression.
I love you, and it can also have nothing to do with you.
She is lonely. Cooking curry rice alone, sitting on a lawn bench reading a book, playing the violin alone, wandering aimlessly on a bicycle, passing couples kissing alone, passing fountains, overpasses, trams whizzing by, watching a In a noisy black and white movie, she was closely followed by a strange, seemingly malicious mistress. Most of the time, she was silent.
She is persistent. He learned about the whereabouts of the senior who he had a crush on from a friend, and secretly buried good expectations for the future in his heart. The three words of Musashino. It's as if it's been framed with gold. She worked hard to leave the cold and beautiful Hokkaido and went to Musashino University where he was alone. "It's very warm here, like spring." In the same city, she gently breathed the air he also breathed, reading The books he bought in the bookstore where he worked, and whether he would linger on the streets she passed by. . . It is such a simple and subtle relationship that makes the most secret love in my heart unstoppably open into an ocean.
She is sullen. Standing next to the billboard and secretly imitating Madou's smile, even though I was already so nervous, I still described that I was, very cheerful. The guy I like is handsome and smart. But, not particularly smart. She is clumsy. He was already holding the borrowed umbrella in his hand, but he found an excuse to come back to his umbrella.
All this is like a self-directed and self-acted sitcom, and the only viewer is actually himself. But such a small love, for her, made the whole world start to shine with dazzling light. The naive and crappy become friendly and cute, and the puppets are so natural that they don't show any traces, and the noisy philistines become kind and beautiful.
Torrential rain. But his voice was as clear as in his ears.
I have seen your performances, I have stared at your serious profile, I have stroked the little yellow book you packaged, and I have recited the city you are in a thousand times in my heart. To me, you are so famous.
You may not know these.
In the pouring rain, she held the shabby red umbrella as if she was clenching her faith, and ran hard without looking back, her skirt flying.
You are the only audience I want. My clumsy performance is all because of your life.
I love you and it's all about you.
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