Dusk is tearing apart the bright colors. The blue sky was swallowed up little by little by the red lead, and the once glorious sun was willing to be humiliated.
The mockery of the horizon. The sun sets over the mountains, and the dusk falls deep.
Xingru looked at all this calmly, she would no longer shed tears easily for pain.
The cool breeze penetrated through the window and seeped into the warm room, like a page of letter paper in Xingru's hand swaying gently. Left behind by Yue Xiang
Among more than a hundred poems, Xingru also found a piece of text written by himself.
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A day to waste laughter and tears. You can say to everyone: "I'm going home." You can think of it anytime, anywhere.
The day when there is someone waiting for me at home.
Ordinary. Great. Just say: "I live..."