In the misty rain in April in the south of the Yangtze River, you held up the sixty-four-bone paper umbrella under the flower tree.
Several pear blossoms are painted diagonally on the umbrella surface, as elegant as jade.
Across the vast sea of people, I still recognized you at a glance.
If life were only like the first time we met. When everything comes to the end, everything has changed.
I watched the flowers and trees of that year slowly wither.
Why didn't you wait for me? Wait for me to go with you.