Sometimes crazy, sometimes calm. She is the elf of her world, and she is also the smoke of the past in their memories. The flower has been blooming for three years. She has bloomed and dimmed. Deep in my memory, she is not the Virgin Mary, nor is she Jesus. She is a wind chime. She once had the face of a philistine and a kind and innocent heart. The college entrance examination, that bloody gun-smoke war, washed away time and washed away the ups and downs. But it can never wash away her youth