At the age of seventeen, the catkins were flying. Jiang Che said, "When the catkins fly again, I have something to say to you."
But later, he tore up his qualifications for recommendation, burned the unsent collection of poems, and disappeared into Xu Mian's world.
We met again after seven years, and the catkins were still there.
He said: "I liked you. From the age of six to seventeen, I liked you more every day than the day before."
She replied: "I know. I've always known it."
Some love is not for being together.
But to prove it.
We were so serious that we wanted to walk side by side to the distance where the catkins were flying.
Even if in the end, only those words that were seven years late are left, and a spring snow that never ends.
