Good Night Luoyang

One rainy night in mid-spring, I was lying in a dark room, sleeping with a boy named Jiale. The sound of rain falling into a waterfall outside the window is the most hypnotic and soft sound. The room was dark and ambiguous, the wooden birch floor exuded a faint yellow fragrance, and the scarlet curtains hung low. The bedside lamp is on, it is a light milky white, a halo of light, small and soft. I'm dreaming. I dreamed about all the beautiful boys I knew, loved, hated, and passed by. Conception: