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In fact, I don't always think about you, after all, it's already the eighth year. To be honest, my memory is fuzzy, and I can only look at the dozens of photos occasionally. Three years, but those dozens of photos and three or four screenshots of chat records. When I was crying and thinking about you, I actually had some doubts about my motives. Is it repentance, powerlessness, disgust, or a loss of life?

Since then, I have always regarded you as the most beautiful person. Presumably the blurring of memory automatically beautifies itself. Yes, you are so nice. Even in the last few months, I still couldn't help bothering you with my troubles, but you spared no effort to care about me and said that you would stay with me for the rest of your life. "If I can still recover, I will always be with you!"

At that time, I was surrounded by a lot of friends. That encouragement warmed me up, but that was all. Later, when I was almost always alone, I remembered that image with a cruel feeling. Probably at that time, you still had a lot of love in your heart, at least at that time, you defeated fear, so you can warm me, right? Or, you are pretending to be strong, you just comfort me because you feel sorry for me, is that so?

I always run away when I need to be strong. If I was able to comfort you at the beginning, I also hope that you will be well soon. But at the end, I couldn't even say comfort. It just feels like a piece of fragile glass, as long as I don't touch it, maybe nothing will happen. I started to reply more slowly. The last chat record is that after you have been rescued in the intensive care unit several times in the middle of the night, the doctor gave you almost the final operation plan. Both options have their disadvantages. Then I didn't reply. Then, there was no reply. About a month later, I was told the ending.

In fact, many trivial things happened in the middle, for example, I told my parents about it. Mom accompanied me to the hospital to see you once. And he said meanly, are you still there or something like that. I always remember, and I always loathed him. Of course, I also loathe myself. It's like a poor-quality gene, after being inherited, it is meaningless to reflect on its own existence. I hate myself, why can't I be stronger, take the initiative, make you happy, be with you, and share more moments with you. Probably my selfishness at that time was the level that I hate the most when I am alone at the moment. Yes, what right do I have to miss you? I am such a disgusting, disgusting and selfish person, a useless body that is just alive.

The so-called parallel world or religious theory about the form of human existence did comfort me at a certain moment before. But it is just like a dream, invisible and hard to find. To die is to die, to disappear, to be gone, whether it is material or spiritual, there is nothing left. I'm just pretending to be you with some part of my ego. I know, I know, but I can't change it. Yes, I'm still looking forward to seeing you. Whether on a street corner, or in a dream, or after death. I'm still looking forward to seeing you.

This is probably one of the reasons why I miss you so much.