I post some emotional literature

When did I start falling in love with you? The golden blossoms fell in April, and everything should end in a splendid but imperfect way. Then, you left me without a ripple. Only then did I realize that there is a kind of inexplicable emotion called heartache. I shared a desk with you for less than half a year, and yet you left in grandeur, gracefully, carrying the pride that was yours. The time spent sharing a desk with you was easy, natural, and carefree. It was only long afterward that I realized this was a habit, a hurtful habit. When you left, I knew I would still shed tears for you. Just like reading a romance novel in bed at midnight, those farewells often left me shattered. Now, it's my turn. From that time, you were destined to be the love spell I couldn't escape. There is a saying: people shouldn't hang themselves on one tree. I actually had no reason to love you. I could casually pick a bunch of boys around me who would follow my wishes unconditionally. But you, just like that, put a three-lifetime spell on me. You jumped from a minor role to vice class monitor, and then, you regarded me as your greatest rival. Thinking back, it feels ridiculous—is it that, in your heart, I was merely a rival declaring war on you? Nine Knives said: the cruelest thing in growing up is that girls of the same age are far more mature than boys. Unfortunately, you never noticed my maturity. You were both near and distant with me, while I followed you like a shadow. People actually don't want to hang themselves on one tree, but the rope has been tied too tightly, too firmly, unbreakable. Moreover, I don't want to untie it at all. It's such a pity that you will never discover my secret. I know you had a childhood sweetheart, someone who, like you, later surpassed me. She is my good friend. There's no betrayal in that. If it must involve this painful word, then it was I who betrayed her. What was broken was that rainy day. The rainwater was cool, dripping shallow yet deep, spreading over my white dress. I saw you, with her. You leaned on each other in the rain, sharing an umbrella together, walking slowly in the rain as if you were celestial beings. The umbrella in my hand gently fell to the ground, then I picked it up and ran wildly. My tears fell along with the rain down my cheeks. The rainwater was icy. Deep yet shallow, it trickled, spreading over my brown hair. Unfortunately, you will never know that every time I walked home, I would quietly follow behind you, watching the laughter and mischief between you two. It's such a pity, why wasn't I your childhood sweetheart, and you weren't my childhood sweetheart.You were born before I was, and when I was born, you were already old. You resent that I was born too late, and I resent that you were born too early. You were born before I was, and when I was born, you were already old. I wish we had been born at the same time so we could have been together every day. As I wrote, I felt pain... My heart was filled with an inexplicable, subtle pain, and then, I didn't want this piece to continue. It seems that in the blink of an eye, graduation is already approaching. There is a strange yet natural way we interact. I tease and joke with you, just like ordinary friends. Or rather, not even friends. But you seem to have a barrier when it comes to me; you are uniquely indifferent to me. Can I take that as something special? Funny, sad, I have loved you for so many years. I so wish time could make me forget; it made me forget a part, but I stubbornly held on to that wisp of air. That's right, air. I look at you, stupidly staring at you. I like to slow down my pace, waiting for you to go ahead, so I can follow behind, neither hurried nor slow. I like your victorious smile, so I am willing to accept defeat. I like your happiness, so I choose to step back. Then, quietly leave. It ends, ends—the magnificent encounter, the solitary love. Goodbye, the you from before, goodbye, the me from before. See, I gave up so easily. Although, it was not as calm and untroubled as I imagined. This is something that can barely be considered an epilogue... This is a true story... My writing is poor, so perhaps only I myself will feel heartache... the calm is not really calm... This piece is dedicated to that boy, at the point of farewell, I'm sorry, I still didn't dare to say I love you...