Human life is too long, and memory is like a container, how can it accommodate all the trivial matters in life. So, there are memory fragments. They never appear clearly in your life, they only occasionally give you a glimpse in your dreams. . .
Click, click, click. .
The train is approaching. Then, it stopped.
The boy took a few steps forward and waited for the passengers to get off the train. A white figure flashed past. Pure blue backpack, hand-operated silver matte suitcase. A head of black hair swayed up and down briskly as she walked.
Her world was empty and indifferent.
The corners of the boy's pure mouth raised slightly, in his dream.