Who is this man pulsing against me, I don't know. Even if you know it, you can't remember it. I always dare not ask too many details because I forget them quickly and might ask about them a second or third time without knowing it. It's easy to get caught, so don't ask.
I always ask for the lights to be turned off. In the darkness, I stared at the ceiling. Through it, through the long years, I looked at that smiling face that I would never dare to look directly at.
I always get pain easily, "That... Maybe it's relatively small." I often explain this guiltily when there is no way to continue.
… …
I met you at the age of thirteen. In a time of ignorance, love is deeply rooted, and the heart is secretly promised, with no way to take it back. I know that this feeling cannot be tolerated in the world, so I say goodbye. I wash my face with tears all day long, and my heart is broken.
Today, seventeen years have passed.
Thirty years go by in a blink of an eye. When I was dying, I could only sigh: I don't regret meeting you, I don't regret this life.
Qingqing Zijin, my heart is leisurely. But for your sake, I still ponder it.
No regrets, no regrets.
His eyes gradually became unable to see, but the scene in the early summer when he was thirteen years old automatically appeared in his mind.
I held the gouache and drew the outline of the fresh fruits on the table on the canvas one stroke at a time. His hands were dirty with mixed paint and his clothes were colorful. I bit my lip, frowned, and tried to recall the intersection of light and dark explained by the teacher.
"The painting is very good." A low and pleasant voice woke me up from the painting.
Turn around and see you. Smiling at me in the bright moon and breeze. In an instant, the place was filled with youthful flowers, and the faint sound of silk and bamboo could be heard in my ears.
Conception: