Maybe a few years later, someone will take me back to this ancient town and accompany me to see the Tuojiang River in the early morning that I had never seen before. At that time, the red clay brick walls might still be covered with ivy, lush and full of life, and there would still be small white insects on the leaves that stung and stung on the hands. The streets are still lined with roses. Together we held navy blue umbrellas and jumped on the muddy ground, splashing yellow mud.
Maybe a few years later, I will still be alone, facing the sea, the spring is not warm and the flowers are not blooming.
Intention: None of us know how much time we have left. Life is just an illusion. Love or not, only the heart knows. The years are not generous, and youth takes root and bears fruit in a blink of an eye, disappearing into a mess of flowers and shadows.