In just a few spring and autumn years, it is nothing more than shade in summer and thin in winter.
At an age when she had long lost her youthful frivolity and rebelliousness, she stood in the spring rain and bent slightly to pick a flower born in March, convinced that the flower would not let her down. But her love turned into stone amid endless suspicion and betrayal, and fell to the ground with a bang. She always thought that sadness was heart-rending and overwhelming. But I have reached a point where my mood is so desolate that I can only describe the innumerable pains.
