In a world that does not belong to me, there is autumn that belongs to me...
Fallen leaves are ruthless in late autumn,
The years are endlessly melancholy,
The dust in southern Xinjiang is speechless.
I've seen it in the past,
The heart is broken, the beauty is gone...
The alley is still the same alley, covered with the orange color of autumn, stretching in twists and turns, lingering with the fragrance of memory. The days we walked holding hands are actually so blurry. Looking at the end of the years, I can't see her smile clearly. Have I missed it after all?
Conception: