I shed my glitz and finally saw clearly who was worthy of running for. He was a cool young man under the osmanthus tree, his breath was as clean as the clear mountains in the distance after the rain, and the vague fragrance of flowers on my body became the only softness in his memory. This time, it was me who took the initiative to approach him, borrowing a wisp of fragrance and slowly getting closer to his heart. He is not good at words, but he silently protects my shoulders every time I turn around, blocking the wind and rain of the world behind him. When I looked back many years later, I suddenly realized that it was not me who captured him during this period.
