I may be in love with you.

I may be in love with you.

Although my most courageous 18-year-old failed to meet you, my appearance in my twenties was no less than who I was at that time.


Spring in my yard has come as you said. Although it was a little late, I came anyway. But unsatisfactorily, the land here did not grow a single rose that you like best. The kind of rose with a thorn that gently sharpens one's fingertips and a large bright and compact bud. It was supposed to be weather-proof in the little prince's glass cover, but it became a sought-after product in the street. You said that it was like secluded literati who had to go down the mountain to sell words, like a general who had been asked to return to his hometown, and like a girl who had not come out of the cabinet and forgot to pack her bags and went away with the failed scholar.

did you see that everything is not what you expected, and the pace of spring is not the same as the last time it came? I didn't want to plant flowers and water them, thinking about the day they would grow up, but I blame you for the last time you were here. Why do you have to take a more look at the greenhouse outside the window? the most exasperating thing is that you still have such a longing look, just like a white deer with small ears popping out of the yard without paying attention.

Baby, spring is an illusion I have prepared for you. Baby, you are the illusion of neon blurring, the collapse of tall buildings, and untidy clothes in spring. the tide has turned its head for you, poured into the busiest square in the city, and took away all the people when it receded. If it were not for my high skills, I am afraid I would have been carried away silently. Where is the chance to boast at this time?

I know you will caress the ends of my messy hair in an extremely hoarse voice and tell me that there is nothing to be afraid of. I also know that I can't beat you. If I see the soft lines of your arms, I don't worry too much.


although I failed to meet you at the age of eighteen, I looked no less than myself in my twenties. there is nothing I can't tell you, and I know it will be better than that of an 18-year-old girl. So, rest assured on my leg, it is now, it is now, I hum a song to you, I read the love letters I wrote for you, love words, word by word, no one sounds better than me. It doesn't matter if I can't be your lover. I'll be a poet who is only willing to write for you. Let me leave the evidence that I like you and tell you that this is one of the ways I like you.

I have also drawn a boundless territory, you come to dominate, you rule this land of gold, occupy every river, every village, every civilization that is about to die out. Those who hide their pride are just waiting for you to crown them, to wear a crown to do evil, to be handcuffed and generous forever.

those secret books given by God are just waiting for me to use up all the secret books given by God, to search for your scattered customs, and to collect your so-called invincible flag. These tricks are the evidence that I like you, and this evidence is one of the ways that I like you.

I want all mankind to be jealous of you and that you have had countless good nights in your life. I want to let the roadside flowers and plants gnash their teeth to hate you, hate the immortal moonlight in front of your bed, and have forever cinnabar moles in my heart.


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it suddenly began to rain on the road, and I offered a large cloud over your head. Others are in a hurry to avoid, but you can swagger on into a gentle trap that no one has found. Shh, you don't have to say anything embarrassing. Embarrassed words don't bother me. I want to be a poet lying on your chest.

your inch-by-inch skin is a piece of paper that I can't finish, and my boneless fingers are used as a pen dipped in ink. If you ask me how many lingering verses I have written at this time, I want you to listen to our rising and falling breaths. As for the tooth marks left on your shoulder, it is a punctuation mark that stops abruptly and represents continuity.

Great explorations and ancient legends depend on us to pass on. I didn't cut off my long fingernails. I thought the traces of the journey should be imprinted on your mountain-like spine and portrayed in the intricate ravines of your palms. Baby, don't worry, listen, it's quiet outside the window. Even the starlight is better than the arrogance of the long poem I wrote for you. Baby, don't worry, you see, the dawn is coming, let's finish this song, lean against each other, gently, deeply, and go to sleep.

when I was half-awake, I looked at the dreams we shared. I saw the spark falling in your eyes, but it burned and boiled for a long time in my night until it went out and left a little warm light. Until it gradually turns to ashes.

but baby, you know, these ashes are the proof that I like you, and this evidence in black and white is one of the ways I like you.

the mood of missing spring is like a year.

can think of you to write these missing sentences.

maybe I have gradually fallen in love with you.