In the rainy season of late autumn, the maple leaves are more lonely, the wind is more lonely, and everything is endured silently. This kind of longing is like thousands of threads of anxiety. Perhaps, you know what the ending will be, but you are still unwilling to try. The thread of longing is continuous. No matter how bumpy it is, only the thread is continuous. A trace of hope will become the source of longing, and it is also the prelude to this rainy season.