This is a very vulgar story. It's also quite common and can be summed up in a few sentences.
But I still kept talking and wrote it down. Because I hope that many years later, I can still remember this year, how I walked into my grandfather's past, walked into his love, and heard a touching poem on a sunny day.
The melancholy young man like a poet, wearing a white shirt and black trousers, held his hand and wrote each other's names stroke by stroke.
After a long time, the paper was damaged, the writing disappeared, and the love dissipated in the wind. No one will remember how much he once loved him.
Conception: