——Do you still remember those years? The light rain on the street is as moist as butter. In the black and white alley, I hold an oil paper umbrella, step on the bluestone, and walk past the fence where I once played with you.
——It's late at night and people are quiet. I picked up the pen again and engraved your features one stroke at a time. The corners of her lips were slightly raised, and the moonlight gently spread on the bed. I am like a white pony keeping watch on the New Year's Eve, quietly turning the corner of time.