Someone once said that among millions of people we meet, neither one step too early nor one step too late;
Some people also say that love is a superstition about the right time and place, holding the hand of your son and growing old together with him.
If meeting is so rare,
If falling in love is so beautiful,
How could he bear to lose his body? How to be willing to let go? How to let go of that thin back in the cold wind-eroded winter?