There Is an Inkstone Under the Porcelain, Which Makes a Squeaking Sound

How should I write about you, Write about the passing of spring and the coming of autumn, the dancing of butterflies and the chirping of cicadas, Write once for thousands of years, write deeply into your heart within one second, It describes how we met very late, and how our relationship is deep and shallow. I write about all my encounters, The snow that finally disappeared covered the earth again, In the end, it's not enough, Nothing is like you, nothing is not you