Then, next time I see you, be sure to wear this cotton white dress. Even if the sun hides behind the clouds and weeps secretly, I can still see the brilliance of kindness in your brown pupils.
I want to remember many things. I remember that the salty sea breeze at the beach ruffled your hair. The sunrise that day was as gentle as a kind old grandfather. It illuminated each other's faces with rosy colors. I looked at you with a smile, and I felt a slight urge to cry. You stood up and walked into the waves, picked up a shell, and struggled to write crooked words on the beach: I wish to be the same person, stay together till the end of our lives, and we will be husband and wife with unquestionable love.
I still want to remember some things. I remember the most popular songs I listened to with you. I remember the tenderness from my palms in the darkness of the cinema. I remember the tone of your snoring. I remember the look on your face when you smiled and cried. I remember the most beautiful fairy tale you ever said: when the black hair faded and we could only survive by drinking porridge, when one of us was lying on the bed unable to move, the other person picked up this yellowed old calendar, slowly counted the romance and happiness in the past, and told it to the other person.
Oh, and, and, I'm still drinking tea and water from your cup. I still get used to holding the embroidered pillow you gave me to sleep with every night.