Not cold yet. I just habitually tightened my coat and hugged myself.
There is snow in Lucheng. When the first velvet snow fell to the ground, she knew that another winter was about to pass.
She is used to this place. She doesn't belong here.
Ridiculous. Where else could it be?
Her roots have long been uprooted by a snowless winter, and her silence has been drowned in the noise of isolation.
Now she lives like a blank slate.
I would rather be a blank piece of paper without memory.