The spring that year was very cold, and there seemed to be a snowfall, a rare snow in the South.
So when everything became a memory, I suddenly found myself still lonely. The past has become a thing of the past, and now it is just a talk.
Occasionally I see pairs of lovers on the street, and they suddenly feel aggrieved and want to cry, but there are no tears left. After experiencing a lot, I became a little decadent, letting the years slip quietly through my fingers, silently...
Although there are no piles of yellow leaves all over the ground in autumn in the South, they are already haggard and damaged and no one can pick them. Stroking the cold wall seemed to be Xiaoyu's slippery jade skin, and it seemed to touch the deepest secret of the soul, which suddenly made my heartache. So I lay quietly on the bed and sang "Breakpoint" by Henry Zhang in a low voice until the dead of night.
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