In fact, from the first day we met, I vaguely thought that all along, it was me who was constantly warming your loss and comforting your loneliness and helplessness. But until you turned around and your back gradually faded from my sight, and the flying dust showed that some good things were exhausted, I suddenly understood that it was not you who was lonely, but me.
When the smoke dissipates
When the prosperous today becomes the past
Who lost whom?
Who can tell clearly?
In this way, the reason why Old City is called Little Old City is because she thinks her writing is not sharp enough, but there is always some loneliness in Little Old City's articles that is far more subtle than sharp. If you feel the same as me, I hope you can use your little wait to share this little sadness with me.
This is our agreement, our little agreement.