I always thought arrogantly that the lost meeting was another way of repaying me. People who truly loved me would at least be warm to me, and I could get honest treatment by opening my heart. I think that the souls of good people have never left. They can pray devoutly or break their hearts for the miserable people in this world. And I would rather believe that they still exist in this world. When I am bullied to pieces by life, they can hug me tightly, just as I hug them with tenderness, softness and caution.
The morning dew is still fresh, and dusk is approaching. How will I bless you, with silence? With tears?