This story was told by me and three good friends in short pieces. Dxy, tym, zyw, zyy. We let this broken flower bloom into a complete spring. Wish us all the best.
·Everyone thinks that I am a beggar with a hairpin on my chest. Only I know that it is my withered heart and the last gift from God.
The day he left, he gave me everything, including those last words that disappeared in the wind.
Do gods also have regrets? I think so, but my regret is that I didn't hear that sentence clearly.
Now I want to find the power to look back, not to become a god, but just to go back to that evening and listen to what he said.
For this reason, I will not hesitate to overturn this fateful river.
(Actually, we deliberately did not set names for these two protagonists, but because they must be written when publishing articles, we used pronouns.)
Intention: A broken flower, a last word, a journey towards the past.