That year, the sky was always blue. Occasionally I look up, and after all, I can still see the pigeons flying by along with the one or two cries. An Cheng occasionally dreams about fragments of those days. Intermittent, faces blurred. But when I woke up, I felt like I was being strangled and suffocated.
Occasionally I dream about it, and after waking up, I light a cigarette. Wrap up in the smoke and slowly forget about it.
Conception: