My name is Qin Sheng.
I'm a waiter.
I have someone I like very much.
We grew up together.
He is my brother.
I want to pluck the stars from the sky, decorate his ink robe, and watch them twinkling in the cold night, so that I can find him who can shine as I crawl forward.
I want to pierce a hole in the curved corner of the moon, tie a tassel on it, hang it around his waist, and listen to the jingling sound of his jade pendant when he sits down, gets up, and walks.
I would rather like to be that foxtail grass, shaking its sparse and narrow leaves, shaking its furry head, looking at the sun and smiling.
Giggle.
You are my sun,
Qin Zheng.