Try to stop liking the wrong person.

maybe I'm biased against romance.

after watching too many books and movies, I decided from an early age that only those feelings that are precarious and can be lost at any time will make people feel alive. I always feel that romance cannot be a stable thing, and the feeling of romance is even less likely to be copied again. I bind love and romance so tightly that no matter how much reality proves to me that they won't always be together, I just ignore them. people, when they are only willing to believe what they want to believe, there is no need to look at anything else.

I knew someone when I was less than twenty years old.

not handsome or tall, I have no idea that he has money or no money. I met him when I was a spectator at another university. The class I attended was called "introduction to the original works of Chinese and Foreign philosophy". Yes, he is a teacher, but he is not my teacher. Philosophy, ah, is still a masterpiece of Chinese and foreign philosophy. I, a student who accompanied my friends in class, sat in that classroom as if I had returned to my math class in high school. All my energy, no matter how loud the music in my headphones, can at best keep me from snoring when I fall asleep. So I slept in this peaceful philosophical world and began to dream. But when I fell asleep, I felt as if my friend was poking me in the thigh, which was quite regular. When people sleep until they start to dream, how painful it is to be pinched on their thighs, so without looking up, I patted her legs and said, "Sister, please, let me sleep for a while, please." the teacher's eyes are not as big as my teeth. I'm sure I can't see myself sleeping.

so I spent most of the class safely in my sleep, and when I was woken up by my friend, there were few people in the classroom. She was supposed to have lunch together, but she was dragged directly from the classroom by her little boyfriend to the playground to watch the basketball game. So I took her meal card and swiped several hard dishes angrily while complaining to my friends about the cool world. The food in their canteen was notoriously good. I randomly found an empty table to sit down at, but then someone sat down across the street. I was thinking, where I have seen this old man, I heard him look at me and say, your teeth are not big, how can you compare with my eyes?

this is the whole process of my acquaintance with him, and it's still funny to think about it after such a long time. At that time, he was still very young, without greasy hair or a slightly protruding belly.

I often go to his classes later. There is a kind of person who glows once he stands in his field. He was shining in my eyes, not only on the square platform but also in the shadow of walking and eating with me. My curiosity for knowledge was probably used up during that time. I listened to him tell me about the history of western art, the love beauty of Russian novels, the style of the Wei and Jin dynasties, and the legends of the late Ming Dynasty. I think he must have a whole universe hidden in his head, and I keep exploring the boundaries with admiration and yearning. Have you ever admired a person very much, like on the rooftop of Zhenhua Middle School, saying to Yu Huai, "I only worship you?"

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I like him, with such warm and shy worship. He likes me, with care and indulgence and a little bewildered nervousness. We counted down together under New Year's Day's fireworks, without holding hands, but he rubbed my hair; we sketched by the lake to watch the sunset, never snuggled up to each other, I sang him a song; we made snowmen in the street in the middle of the night, drinking beer, frozen hands red, always missing a hug, we were like two pupils, the game stepped on each other's shadow. We have all the warmth, tacit understanding, companionship, and intersection, but no one touches that line slightly. No one even knows what that line is.

everything seems to have happened between us, but nothing has happened. I think even after that, even now, I still do, and I always pay more attention to the things that I know are impossible than I can have.

he taught his philosophy course in this school until he fell in love and got married one year I saw the three of them on the street. The course of his life has never deviated from his expected course. We, ah, only looked at each other briefly in time, as he wrote in the book he let me read: "it was a beautiful mistake to turn around in the face of some possibilities, but it was a stupid mistake to go forward."

he was already thirty years old when I was nineteen, and he said he couldn't bear it. I was angry at what he called unbearably. But it took me a long time to understand what this unbearable meaning meant. I understood that he was standing in front of me, not cowardly. But can not bear it, I do not have the heart to put a beautiful, into the trivial diesel oil and salt to consume. Dewy love means that there will always be out one day, and this is not necessarily a bad thing.

now I still have that kind of paranoid romanticism,

which is constantly searching for something worthy of my worship.

although the song says, "I also burned out the romance, don't sigh in vain."

but time and past people have told me:

originally, there is no kind of love,

which kind of romance is unprecedented.