Six hundred and sixty-six years after my death, I encountered a shameless ideology.
I can't tell where he belongs, but he eats and drinks in my house.
Later I told him that love is too short and forgetfulness is too long, so I can't give him what he wants.
He replied, no matter how many times, it would make me look into his eyes again.
In those eyes, there are ten miles of peach blossoms.