Our first meeting was neither gorgeous nor shocking, just as ordinary as the end of the details.
I was young and frivolous, and I didn't know who would play what role in my life. Full of strange thoughts, I watched the faces in front of me change indifferently. The names of those faces were always tangled up in my memory. I still couldn't weigh the weight of the word "confidant". Facing the indifferent attitude of me, you still retain your caution, but the conceited me is reluctant to do a simple proof question.
After all, you played the role of Ziqi, listening to my mocking and embarrassing music, but you smiled calmly. I am a bad Boya. I can't play a complete smooth tune even though I pluck the strings and smooth the silk. I am tired and clumsy, so I can't finish this performance carelessly. When the strings broke and the music ended, you fluttered your sleeves and left. I realized that you were tired from listening.
You carefully put away the tones echoing in the long street, and wait for me to compose it into music again.
In the vast ocean of time, I passed through the vast sea of people, walking through the loneliness of the mortal world, and I realized that despite the strong love and hard work, who else is willing to listen? Even though I have the intention of falling flowers along the way, I have no intention of ripples going eastward.
The word "heart" can be put into writing, but it cannot describe the fleeting years that have passed by in a hurry. The thought-provoking past events have turned into several scars on my heart.
Now, I have perfected the sound of the piano, waiting for you to come again. I just wonder, are you willing to listen to me again?