My name is Zhou Xiaorui, and this is my forty-second New Year's Eve.
His name is Shi Yang, but unfortunately, he only passed the forty-first New Year's Eve.
I don't know how to recall him. In my memory, 16-year-old Shi Yang has always held a straight back, holding a pen, and writing with a thin golden body as tall and tall as him. Maybe this is where the story begins.
I don't know how to define the ending of our story. Stories that end suddenly are always hard to let go.
I seem to understand a certain situation in the past. I was lying on a rocking chair and crying bitterly over an unknown novel. Shi Yang came over and pressed my head and said, "Cry. When your story ends one day, there will be no place to cry."
Yes, the ending ended so abruptly that I didn't even have time to shed a single tear.
Intention: People are always around, love lasts forever, and this love lasts forever.