The torn pages were glued back together, and the vague fragments of memory were repeated over and over again in my mind.
Piecing together the double images, I vaguely saw a boy, and then the falling white snow faced the person next to me.
The girl said: "You know? After death, people will turn into angels and always protect them.
The person you love most in the world, you see, snow is the feather left by the angel in the world. ".