Waiting for Every Flower Falling Season

"What are you dawdling about? You can't do anything small!" The girl's impatient voice sounded, as fresh and sweet as the spring rain in March dripping on the lake, and like the fleeting snowflakes falling between the eyebrows with a hint of chill. Although it is cold and distant, it makes people involuntarily nostalgic. The one being accused by the girl was a boy lying on the tree. He was a few years older than the girl, and he had a handsome, angular face, but was weak and pale. He bit his almost transparent lips habitually, and a rare trace of blood appeared in the tooth marks. He stretched out a thin arm, and his slender fingers slowly and aimlessly reached forward. The thin ones... Are branches... The thin oval ones... Are leaves... Where are the flowers... The boy frowned slightly and carefully distinguished the touch under his fingers. He could clearly smell the strong fragrance of flowers, but why couldn't he touch the flowers? … Why does she always ask him to do things that are beyond his capabilities? Why is there always unknown confusion and fear waiting for him? Why - is he blind? The finished novel I haven't even finished filling the pit Intention: