Sweet summer nights, quiet spaces, and words to express my feelings.
Like a meandering river, it flows in the room where Wu Mengsheng comes to write notes every night. He is used to writing down what he has seen and heard every day here using quiet candlelight, a treasured pen, and light yellow letter paper, and then folds them flatly into an envelope. To some extent, he always has to write down his current comfort and future vision, even if he is in a bad mood, because he is indeed a person who knows how to enjoy life.
Then, he sealed the letter, got up, went downstairs to put the letter in the mailbox, and took a walk in the garden as usual. But with the weather like this, he could only hold an umbrella and send letters.
The mailbox was already wet with water. Wu Mengsheng carefully put the envelope in, but inevitably a corner got wet from the dripping rain. Hearing the soft sound of falling, he sighed and walked quickly back to the old villa holding an umbrella.
Conception: