The light can make people cry. When the memory is dusty, one can only linger on it alone. The years that are about to be covered up, the silhouettes that have been broken in the years are precipitated in the cycle of sun and moon. Trying desperately to numb myself, pretending not to be sad, and said goodbye sadly. The birds in the sky are lost, can they be found again? I guess no one remembers it, the promise to follow forever.
Conception: