On those white wilderness, Lili's graves and the faded summer tombstones were covered with thick snow.
I haven't thought of you who was by my side in so many years.
I also didn't think of you who had been by my side for so many years.
Those summers are long dead.
No one thinks that it is winter now, everyone thinks that it is a sunny summer, but the real summer has long since died at the intersection of the forked years, buried hastily, and the tombstone has been hurriedly carved with a big summer on it.
The years were completely blown away. Towards the north, fragmented.