wall window

, because I need to, I'm cranky, because I don't have.

A 13-year-old motherless girl was once attached to me, and I imagined it as love.I paranoidly convinced myself that love transcended gender and age, because I never saw a child as just a child, but as a person.Because I knew love when I was a child.

In the "story" of "us", I beautified our acquaintance and getting along with each other, I dreamed of "days on the clouds", described "deep twilight", and I wrote a letter to myself——to give A glimmer of solace and an empty hope for the future ahead.

Yes, for my needs, I added dialogues, plots, and actions, that was my sweet dream.I am addicted to weaving stories, weaving stories in my heart every day, weaving the stories I long for, immersed in a pure "god" world, excited for a while, sad for a while.

I have been chewing my dreams, every day, every night.

I live by it, I live by it.

I have always had the ability to turn myself into a child. In front of her, I often become a child, a child who is about her age, and wants to have everything about her.

I am madly in love with her.

I don't want her to grow up, she will know how to love when she grows up, but what she loves is not me.

She learned about sex when she grew up, but she didn't give it to me.

I even imagine, like those dictators, using obscurantism to suppress her youthful awakening.

In my head, her future was constantly dangling cruelly before my eyes, and I was madly jealous of her future "lover".I was controlled and tortured by these thoughts, which made my soul restless.

That's my dark heart.

I also have the ability to make myself have a bright appearance.

I'm a "sane adult" and I say I'm happy to be her friend and mom.

I tolerate all her indifference and shortcomings, and watch her grow up like my own child.

I give comfort, encouragement, and praise, and help her find her direction—happy, rational, safe, and warm.

I pretended to be a "universal" teacher and elder who could help her the most - as long as she needed, I was by her side at any time.

I said every word that could be dried in the sun, clean, clear, and never ambiguous.

"I love you", I have no right to say this sentence, and I am not qualified, even though I say it thousands of times in my heart every day.

I love and repent.

Never thought about how long life can be, never imagined how long life is, just like never dared to dream how long love can be, never grasped how real love is.

The luckiest thing is that I can dream and use words.

As long as you are accompanied by dreams and words, life will not be too lonely.

As long as I can roam these shimmering staccato lakes and lakes that I weave, these fragments will sustain my life.

It can fill my heart and make an oasis grow in the desert of my dry heart.

Even though that's just a mirage.

I am the window, the window on the wall.

Can't get in, can't get out.

Half light, half dark, half black, half white.

Half asleep and half awake, laughing and crying at the same time.

But at least it's still a window, not a glove box in a window.

At least half can face the light.

Half of them can enjoy the sunshine and rain, accompany nature, and enjoy the blooming and falling of flowers.

This is the fate of gays.

(Finish)