twenty four.
I like it very much.
Before I realized that I was actually a woman, our love was showing signs of breaking down and you didn't know it. You love me deeply attached to my whole being as a man, one arm, but can't accept that I exist in other forms, can't accept the situation that I will face as a minority to be watched and disdained by the majority, you love I, as a woman who is thirsty for love in the world, you cannot imagine and share this situation and pain, you empathize with the various hurts I may have suffered and have suffered, and gave up our children when I broke down.
For the first time I spit out a butterfly sadly when you were about to be separated, all the beginnings of our love, from my hand to yours, but I still keep a share in my body.
I won't see you again, but I'm so hungry for you, knowing your address, looking at your house as white as snow in the winter snow, smoking in the car with my head down, you get married We have a child, but then why don't we want to live like this, we are a couple with "liberte" written on the bedside, we will not be bound by family. I write poems for you, I write frantically, I smoke violently, listen to songs, write and draw on paper, and completely forget everything around me. Just doing what you want will definitely hurt the people around you, I think you know this very well, but I can only run around for my love, I can only be myself and hope that this self can still get you nothing. separate love.
My collection of poems is published, and all the poems about you in my heart must be seen by you. And that pink brick—your house is so white and lifeless, I'm going to leave a clue quietly, a clue that I'll run towards you as soon as you pull it lightly.
"Lawrence, you crossed the boundaries of my life", I ran to you, standing in front of your house as uneasy as I saw you for the first time. What I didn't know was that my collection of poems wet you like a downpour, breaking through your wonderful life and directly evoking all feelings about love. We hug, we make love, we are lovers who are lost and found in jeopardy.
you've changed.
Even as we walked out of this house proudly, smiling and fearless in the winter sun, and the sky was falling in all sorts of clothes—it was a little game we loved, but I knew the cracks had gone deeper. Even if we go to Black Isle, even if I take you to see couples who can still be together after realizing their own gender, I still lose you.
Three years after another, the traces of love let me know that your phone calls are still ecstatic, and you're still going to appointments. But I saw you who fled in the autumn leaves and was in a hurry to leave me. I saw that the red hair you had been promoting for so many years disappeared. I know that after the split, you have slowly had another life, not necessarily rich and free. Carefree love, but enough to live an ordinary life with a little bit of ironing every now and then.
I don't want to keep my feet on the ground, that's why I lost you.
I have long lost every one of you, it may just be a misunderstanding, but the misunderstanding deepens our imaginary love for each other.
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