Another attempt at writing a manuscript. Every time I see the densely packed inlaid paper, I feel a sincere sense of fulfillment in my heart.
The days passed by like running water. At the end of my twenties, I stood by the window, looking at the foggy sky, with the sound of the air conditioner ticking in my ears, and suddenly fell into a whirlpool of memories. Those innocent and unrestrained, and those low leaden sadness.