He was waiting, waiting for a moment to turn around, and the faint light and shadow of the setting sun were dancing on someone's hair, and the familiar red eyes were filled with mist.
He was waiting for a word buried deep in his heart to be spoken, so he used all his strength to chase the thin figure and never let go.
Waiting, like the division of time, taking something and giving something, until in the end, the moonlight all over the place is left, reflecting the memories. How should they face the future?