He and he were old friends, better than brothers, confidants, as close as brothers
He and he became more and more silent in the cycle of seasons.
She walked past them, leaving behind blooming buds one after another.
She and him, him and him
Walking on the long mottled road, countless thoughts become the wind.
So close, so far
Later, until no more birds passed by in the sky.
This article is a sequel to "Flowers Blooming on the Moshang and the Sound Is Like a Dream", explaining more about the past and the future.
Conception: