Eighteen Years of Love: Always a Fluttering Heart
Of course, I still hold a fantasy about love, just like he always gives me an expectation about marriage. I feel that my need for emotions is relatively larger than others, especially when I was young. I would even try to win my parents' attention, and even desperately study to get excessive attention. But no matter what, I can't extinguish my longing and infatuation for love. This is what should be the fragrance of eighteen years old. This is also the strength that eighteen years old should have. I'm going to talk about my thoughts with my eighteen-year-old self, to talk about my feelings about love.

Recently, for the past month, the main theme of English has been about love. Initially, questions were asked about whether you believe in love at first sight, whether you believe in pen pals or relationships that have grown deep roots even without meeting in person, and what requirements you have for your future spouse. What qualities do you hope he has? Now, I'm going to give my own answer as consistently as possible, trying to accurately reflect my thoughts at that time. Firstly, I don't have any specific requirements for my future spouse. I just hope he can simply accompany me through the mundane and peacefully. Secondly, I believe in love at first sight. That feeling of instant destruction and devastation. But also gives you a sense of belonging and security. You will believe. You can immerse yourself in the fire of this love, and be burned to ashes – it's worth singing about.
But then I thought about it. Even though I'm so longing for love and willing to do anything for it, I don't even want to climb to the love volcano. I believe in love without a face, I believe in Platonic-style spiritual relationships, I believe in everything pure, because this is love. It's the most uncontrollable emotion of humans. We're just drifting along with the flow.

Han Han wrote, 'I want to talk to this world.' Now, I want to talk to love with my eighteen years.
Youth cleanses the flowers, the beauty of waves in the years.
Do you still remember the beautiful memories of your youth?
That year, eighteen. The wind was blowing.
Your braided pigtails and laughter.
Swinging in the sky.