I was eleven years old and Xixi was seven when we moved here.
I saw him at first sight. His dark brown sweater highlighted his fair face.
The ginkgo leaves on the roadside are falling to the ground, and the sunshine is warm. It is a gentle winter.
I was twenty-two when I moved away and Xixi was eighteen.
I saw him at first sight, with his pure white T-shirt and his pursed lips.
The branches on the roadside stretched toward the sky, and the sun was dazzling. I thought it was a bright summer.
If we can all capture the joy that flashes across our hearts, trace it back to its roots, and believe in it, what will happen to us later?
But we always use a set of inherent standards to evaluate and identify, and give trust without hesitation.
We let those short-lived moments that are hard to appreciate fade away.
Concept: Most of the things we like are eager to crush them in our hands and chew them in our mouths.