The word "falling rain" seems to have a unique charm.
It rained almost every day I spent with her, and the air was full of moisture.
Her thoughts wrote a poem, in a vague dream——
"Weeds are still growing wildly in the mountains, and the reflection of the bamboo forest is swaying in the water.
I still remember my moon, silvery white, but not cold at all. "
[It's not pretty, written casually, it's just first-person pseudo-documentary. ]
Concept: The love record between a child and his sister
