The clouds on this plateau fly very fast, changing their shapes and showing various charming poses. I often hold a paintbrush to capture his expression, but I often just watch it sit quietly for a day, then pack up the tools and go home under the afterglow of the evening sun. And home is a familiar yet strange place. On the road, I met herdsmen riding horses and driving their yaks home. The place where the smoke rose in the distance was the most ordinary happiness for a few decades.
This is the first year I've been here and I can't remember. I still remember that when I first arrived here, I couldn't get used to drinking highland barley and mare's milk, hearing prayer flags and matouqin, despising bonfires and herdsmen, couldn't breathe in the thin air here, and couldn't wrap my clothes tightly in the biting wind. I didn't understand why Heizang believers regarded the pilgrimage of uncertain life and death as a kind of pride and pride. But as my face gradually turned a plateau red, I discovered that my blood was beginning to connect with the life of this earth.
I use my memories to count the time I spent with you until I see you again in this stretch of mountains. Your smile is still so innocent, your hair is unwashed and greasy, your drawing paper is the life of a shepherd, the opportunity of the blue sky and white clouds, you never knew that your beauty is moving.
I finally met you again today, ten years later, and my body became vaguely transparent. Finally, I got my wish and disappeared from this world, before you turned around. Death is a promise I make to you.
However, I still have one wish, which is to really marry you before you bury me.