(This story is purely fictitious. The author's pseudonym is: Baiyan Yushuang, Rantiao ID: Flying Didan Noodles).
The man next door is dead.
I got the news when I heard an aunt chatting with another aunt while taking her grandson on the elevator.
At that time, the two old women didn't even know his name and called him the man on the seventh floor.
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After writing this story, I couldn't hold back my tears four or five times. When I was posting the article, I suddenly had this idea:
On a snowy day outside... I said, "Are you going out?", But he didn't say a word.
I said again, "Let's go for a walk!", But he still said nothing.
Then I said, "I really want to take a walk with you under the snowy sky, because accidentally, our hair will turn gray."
What kind of reaction will he have? Laugh at me, or hold me in your arms?
But the story doesn't end like this, because no matter what you think, I will say, "I lied to you - in fact - it didn't snow - and he didn't -"
Maybe everything that belongs to this era is like this. After the story is told, after looking back, I feel that there was nothing at the beginning, including this story.
Intention: