Wan Ning gently picked up the notebook and stroked the leather cover with his fingers, bit by bit, inch by inch, not missing a single inch. The corners of the book are polished smooth, and the white is beige. The soft color seems to give people the illusion of age and gentleness.
On the title page, there is a drawing of a pot of donkey grass. The traces drawn by the pencil are a bit blurry. The small yellow flowers are scattered in an orderly manner, gentle and natural. Looking at it makes my heart warm.
The first page is blank.
On the second page, the word "diary" exaggeratedly occupies the entire note paper. The handwriting is profound and powerful, looking stubborn but cute.
On the third page, there are two words "Wanning" as small as possible in the lower right corner, like ants crawling, like two cute ants crawling. Even with such small characters, you can still see that the last stroke of the word "Ning" is a little skewed.
Then, the notebook was torn out page after page, not cleanly, and the rough edges were stubbornly left there, and then everything was blank until the penultimate page------the first line, with neat words of neither big nor small, "Time passes," why is it a comma instead of a period?
The last page is blank. Did you leave me an unfinished story? Wan Ning closed his eyes and his eyelashes trembled slightly: "Time passes."
"Did you hear Guangyin?" The sun shone on her face, the corners of her mouth curved warmly like a sweet smile, and her dimples were looming under the sunlight.