The first time I met him, it was at an extremely chaotic place with blood and sweat strewn everywhere. A voice whispered softly into my ear, “Tell the police that you didn’t see anything, understood?”
The second time I met him, it was at the road by the seaside. He was on a sports car; a Chinese man with a hot lady accompanying him.
The third time I met him, it was at a Halloween party. In the darkness, he lowered his body, and I could feel his breath on my face, and his scent drifting towards me from mere inches away. It was a mixture of leather and smoke – a heady, irresistible smell.
The youthful feelings we once had – they will fade away along with the passage of time. Lifting one’s head, lowering one’s head, fate begins, and fate ends – in the end, when we look back into the past, we can no longer recognize our past selves. However, subsequently, I never ever met a person who, like him, loved me like his life.