[Love and Producer Xu Mo] Many hours a day

In fact, I know very well in my heart that he is just my teacher.

And it was the teacher before, but it is no longer.

And it only taught me for a year, and there were only two classes a week.

And the relationship between us is only a teacher-student relationship.Perhaps when I was no longer his student, the relationship could turn into a teacher and a friend—but that was all.

I should have no unrealistic illusions about him.

It's been two years and I still don't understand.I don't understand my feelings for him, I just know that when I have an intersection with him, I feel joy, gratitude, and happiness.I don't know if this is normal, if it goes beyond a student's respect for a teacher.I don't understand what I'm trying to get from Xu Mo, and I don't understand what my fantasy is, because I clearly know that further personal relationships are impossible, but what I can get from him-once a year New Year's greetings, likes on Weibo two or three times a year, and replies in Moments—these are all normal things, and it's not worth my fuss.

The only thing I know is that my feelings for him should be called "love", love in a broad sense.As for which one, I never knew.Maybe it's respect, maybe it's love, maybe it's affection.I have no idea.

I don't want to delve into it either.Are you afraid of facing your own heart?Is it because you are afraid that the result will be contrary to your expectations?Perhaps, I simply do not have the ability to get to the bottom of it.

But I think these are not really important.The important thing is that in those days, I harvested memories that can be used to warm me for the rest of my life.

……

I am writing this passage in the spring of S city.It was spring break and I was able to go back home to be with my family.There is still a bit of winter chill in the lack of light in the home; but the sun outside is bright and warm, accompanied by the breeze, which is the kind of beauty that makes people smile.

I walked out of the house, and under the sun, the white magnolias on the roadside at the gate of the community were blooming.

Walking along the sidewalk leading to the school bus pick-up point when I was in junior high school, I looked up, and the wind blew the full and snow-white magnolia petals, and the branches swayed rhythmically—just like two years ago.

I stood there for a while, waving to a taxi.The car stopped and I opened the door.

"Master, go to SBS, Baishuiwan School."

It's time to meet him.