"The Last Her"
"That year, I was 12 years old. The apricot blossoms were in full bloom, and he always liked to put a pale yellow flower on the tip of my hair, hold my hand, and walk in the apricot grove near the mountain. The breeze blew over my cheeks, and the refreshing smell of mint lingered on the tip of my nose. It was so beautiful at this moment, and it was one of the few nostalgias of my youth in the flower season."
An old woman who was over sixty years old sat under the grape trellis and slowly recounted the sweetness of the passing years. It fermented under the influence of the past on her fingertips and became mellow until it became rich and became a taste that the old woman will never forget in her life. The kid next door who was just starting to fall in love was at the age where he could fantasize about these love affairs, so he naturally asked the old woman about the rest of the story. The sunlight filtered through the grape trellis and scattered on the annual rings of the skin. The old woman smiled kindly, caressed the children's heads, looked at them, her eyes were tender, as if she was hiding the naughty nature of her youth, and said, "I'll tell you next time. My mother-in-law is old and has forgotten a little. I'll tell you how it goes when I remember."
"How is Grandpa? Mother-in-law, you must tell us next time.
Intention: Waiting for good things