This is a little poem I wrote when I dreamed back at midnight, recalling the figure that I could only find in the phantom of ink fragrance from now on. Originally, I kept it to myself for several years, but now that I have started writing articles in Jinjiang, let's release it!
It turns out there are many people who love my brother, but I only write about my longings, don't pursue the reality with me.
Please respect the way I love him.
When writing novels, I can still accept criticism that my layout and materials are not rigorous, but poems are purely about mood, and I don't accept criticism. Thank you.