I had a dream, and I was with Meng Yilang. I looked up at him and saw a very gentle look in the corner of his eyes.
It must have been high school, we were walking home together through an alley, he was carrying a schoolbag, and on the way I saw a good friend sitting in her father's car.
Multiple scenes are intertwined, and there may also be memory scenes from junior high school or college, and everything is as pink as a blooming albizia flower.
He was like a green and stiff persimmon with frost, his hair was very short, his left hand was gently resting on the edge of the schoolbag I was carrying behind me, and he said nothing.
It should be the season of early summer, with light and heat, and what I could see when I lowered my head was the swaying shadows of trees on the road.
In the dream, I also knew that I was dreaming, because there was never an alley on my way home.