"I have loved many people, but not myself."
That day, he was leaning against the dying plum tree against the moonlight. The moonlight shone on his shoulders, as if covering him with a layer of silver.
The bamboo shadows slanted horizontally, and the dew wind blew by, making the corners of his clothes rustle to the ground.
"Just leave."
Then forget about me.
"What kind of mountains and rivers have you seen?"
"I've seen you."
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Cookies (at least that's what I think)
Intention: Will the heart still beat for him when we meet again?