The white feathers are long and graceful, and the pearls are like fire.
In the vaguely hot summer, under the guidance of the white bird, Jiu'er met the snow-like boy on the water side.
Many years later, she would still vaguely recall the sentence in the poetry book about the blue bird diligently visiting, so she would always wonder if a white bird was the beginning of all love, would it also mean a short-lived love that melted into the sunset like snow, no matter what Whether it is the brief moment in the ruins, or in reality, the rainbow shadow under the mirage, the deviant beauty, the desolation and beauty struggling in the eternity of this floating world, are just the most helpless sorrow in eternal life.
The snow is dancing and the white clothes are curling up.
In the immortality of monsters, love and hate are just false joys and sorrows. They are like the ashes of fireworks touching the fingers. They disappear with the wind in a moment and disappear without a trace. Only the residual warmth is left, unrealistically telling the past existence.
All that's left is the strands of hair tied together, but the sorrow of having no part in it. Along with the white smoke locked on the clear water, it dissipates into the freedom of extravagant hope.