A piece of yellowed letter brings my thoughts back to the past. Youthful youth, ignorant emotions, and prosperous flower season.
The leaves of the sycamore tree fall, my thoughts are gone, and everything has been blown away by the wind.
Your appearance still emerges in my mind, but unfortunately it is no longer the pure face it once was - the light makeup made the parallel lines drift away; wearing a white gauze ended the long-cherished wish of holding hands.
In the dream, if time flows back to that year...
This novel and its characters are purely fictitious. Any similarity is purely coincidental and should not be imitated.
