Today I found a copy of <> in my study.

This was bought from a street stall outside school during high school. The book is already falling apart, and the cover has yellowed. Inside the book, I found a small poem printed on A4 paper. It was written on a morning in autumn 2012. At that time, I was young, working in a southern city, just beginning to understand the world, full of youthful passion and wild thoughts. Back then, there was no AI, and all the writing was based on limited thinking and abundant emotion. Looking back now, although I was trying to express sorrow through new words, I realize that I find it very difficult to write such emotionally charged words anymore.