In late autumn, the sycamore leaves fell all over the ground. Xu Zhixia squatted downstairs in the community and crumpled the half-written letter into a ball. The letter was filled with her thoughts that she had been saving for three years, but when she looked up and saw the figure holding someone else's hand, all the words were choked in her throat. The crumpled letter was finally thrown into the trash can, just like the love she couldn't express, and even a farewell seemed redundant.
Intention: Never come to the end
