I liked a person at that time.
Like a person's songs, like words, like music, like those affectionate old songs singing. I like the shallow sadness, the simple aesthetic plot in the text, the unrestrained mood in the text, and the feeling that I can find it at any time. Those shallow words, those feelings hidden in the bottom of my heart, and those shallow sorrows make people dream, more addicted and more helpless. I didn't choose these words, and I don't like them.
Quietly enjoying this loneliness, enjoying this loneliness, my words have been comforting me, weaving my mood, words and words with words, just like when I am alone, my thoughts drift away.
Perhaps for people with words, the mood in words is only in words, and loneliness has become my prisoner.
Some people will say that words are the pillar of the soul, the pillar of the soul. Every word of me will be lingering with the words, with tenderness between the lines and confusion between the lines. The story in every word, the story in every paragraph, is a beautiful text.