Sometimes, I really don't know if letting go is a form of love. At the moments when I look at myself, covered in wounds again and again, I really become more and more confused. Why did I give everything, yet the result is not what I wanted? Why, when I give my true heart to others again and again, all I receive in return is their deceit? Is that really love?
"Mom and Dad, please tell me, in your eyes, what is love? Is it a phrase that can be casually said? Is it really just a joke in social interactions, which others take seriously, even if you're joking.
Even if I hide everything very well, in the end, I will finally realize that it is not my goal. My goal isn't there, nor is it my original intention. How laughable my actions appear in the eyes of others, only I know what all this truly is. Only I know whether what I want should be obtained or once again be taken away by others forcedly."
I vividly remember the grievances my wife suffered back then, which I find hard to forget.
