Ten years of life and death are so vast that I cannot forget them without thinking about them. Thousands of miles of lonely tomb, no place to speak of desolation. Even if we meet each other, we should not know each other, our faces are covered with dust and our temples are like frost. At night, I suddenly returned to my hometown with a deep dream. I was dressing up outside the small window. They looked at each other without words, only a thousand lines of tears. It is expected that the broken heart will be cut off every year, on a bright moonlit night, there will be short pines.